Constance thought she could finally stop looking over her shoulder. She has a steady job as a hairstylist, rents a small apartment next door to her best friend, and keeps a routine that distracts her just enough to not have to dwell on her past.
All...
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Constance is a fitting name for that tiny woman because she is constantly surprising me.
I was trained to see things coming- to be several steps ahead- but this girl throws me off. Who feeds a stranger and then brings him home, especially a man looking the way I do? If I can smell myself, I'm sure she can too and it's not pleasant.
I just can't figure her out therefore I don't trust her.
She drives a Honda Shadow motorcycle, eats like a freaking anaconda and speaks at least three languages. At first I considered the possibility that she was an agent but her eyes are too innocent. It just feels too good to be true. In all these months never has someone showed me kindness for absolutely no reason.
When I walked into her home the first thing I noticed is she lives like a pauper when she probably makes enough money to have a much nicer apartment. I suppose she could be a minimalist if you judge her based off what you see when you walk in but I'd bet my left testicle her closet is overflowing with clothes.
I listen to her as she tells me which door the bathroom is and how to jiggle the hot water knob to get it to work. The bathroom is, apparently, at the end of the hallway but when she doesn't follow me, I can't help myself and open the other two doors. The first is a linen closet but the other is her room.
You can tell a lot about a person by seeing how their bedroom is made up. The first thing I notice is, like the rest of her apartment, there isn't any personal photos anywhere. Her bed is the only messy thing and noting is out of place except for something small in the middle of the room.
A vibrator.
Lying on the floor is a little purple vibrator, her only personal object in sight. Poor girl needs to get laid.
Just so I don't have to lose a testicle, I step over her toy and open the closet. Sure enough, it's jammed packed with clothes, shoes, something that is either a torture device or makeup and wigs. Dozens of wigs.
I'll never understand women.
I silently close the doors, leaving everything undisturbed and then make my way to the bathroom. The gun that I keep at the back of my pants is the only clean thing about me I notice as I pull it out and hide it under the folded towels. I'll just grab it before I leave. Theres no reason to scare Scissors.
She is too trusting. If I were a lesser person, I could rob her or worse. Good thing then that I'm not anything like that.
Shedding my filthy clothing, I step into the first hot shower I've had in months. I almost moan when the heat hits me but I can't take my time to enjoy it. Hurriedly, I squeeze out some of her flowery body wash into my palms and begin to scrub. I scratch my relieved scalp and remove all leftover hairs from my first haircut in too long. It takes several trys but finally my skin is clean. I watch the brown water circle the drain until it turns clear again.
