The Traitor ✓ (Book Six)

Chapter Two

I just can't bring myself to leave this couch. Hours go by, people come in and out- but I'm still here. I think I'm still processing that conversation Lauren and I had a few days ago, and with having nothing to do for the first time in my life, my brain doesn't know how to react.

  There's an endless amount of food and things to pass time with just at the airport, a few stores with books and stuff, but it's hitting me that the way my life goes now is up to me. I'd gotten so used to a routine, sleeping on a hard cot and having food delivered to my cell(though it was disgusting), that I'm not sure how to function as an adult anymore.

  Now, the tv's still blaring on, talking about my life. I get a few more glances; none from people who are bold enough to actually talk to me, since I'm "dead".

  Then when the breaking news banner finally disappears, I find myself slowly sitting up. At first it's just that, but then my feet involuntarily shift, forcing me to stand. I figure I might as well grab the bag and get some food while I'm at it, so I turn to the airport map that's in English and run my finger over it until I find the food court.

  I don't recognize any of the names, but oh well. At least I don't have any food allergies.

  Emily.... Emily was a different story. She couldn't go out to eat without looking at the menu beforehand and making a thousand adjustments. Waiters hated her for it, especially when they'd be the ones to fuck up and she'd have a mild allergic reaction in the middle of a restaurant. Except for this one time....

  It was her birthday- it's been so long that I don't remember which one, but we went to a local restaurant she'd found on the internet- a smaller one that only had a few grills. You can imagine how well that went. Her lips started swelling up as she ate- I made her put it down and she made me tip them anyways, I drove her to the hospital and that's were it got so much worse. Her face became almost unrecognizable.

  You could barely tell where her eyelids stopped, or where her chin was because of the lips. Back then, I would have said that was the scariest moment of my life. Now, I would say it was in court, when I thought I was going to get the death penalty- but I didn't, so here I am.

  Standing in the middle of the food court, I glance around at the names and pictures until I find something that looks good. My parents immigrated when I was just five, and they didn't speak a lot of Spanish when I was young, so what I learned I picked up on from my group of friends at school. I know just enough to survive here, but not enough to read the damn menu.

  So I do what I know how- approach the woman working the counter and attempt to use my broken Spanish. I apparently got through to her, because she gestures for me to go sit down, and then she shouts my fake name when it's ready. It looks like some vegetable rice thing, not that it matters what's in it- because it's fucking delicious.

  Twenty minutes later, with an empty bowl, I sit back. Think logically, dumbass.

  The first thing I need to worry about is a place to stay. It's not too late- only 3pm, but hotels in the area start closing around nine. I figure, if I'm going to be staying here forever- I might as well find a house now. I'm not picky, all I need is something fully furnished- because there's no way in hell I'm focusing on that right now.

  I pull my new phone out of the bag again and pull up Zillow, clicking on the filter for move-in ready houses and apartments. None of them click. There's one that's fully furnished, but the roof is quite literally caved in, and there's another one that's almost perfect, but then I look under the listing and see it's closed for black mold. Oh well.

  I sit in the same spot again for so long that my neck begins to hurt, just scrolling through the endless listings. When I've almost given up hope, another one catches my eye: Fully furnished, small- but right on the beach.

  I must be dreaming.

  In the description, the landlord's added a note that if you've got the money now, you can move in now. I eye the card sticking out of my wallet- the place is relatively cheap, but still about twenty percent of the money Lauren just handed to me.

  I contemplate it for a moment and decide the money is worth it- as long as the thing doesn't flood, so I scroll down even more to find the phone number.

  It rings a few times, but it's almost as if the landlord was sitting by, waiting on someone- because he's the first one to speak. "Hey! Are you calling about the house?"

  "Uhm...yeah I just... have a few questions." I stutter.

  "Like what?"

  "Well... the place is a beachfront and....so cheap. What's wrong with it?"

  On the other end, there's an exasperated sigh. He's clearly had to deal with this question before, from somebody who never followed through with buying it.

  "Nothing. It's just that I've had it for so long and...While it doesn't happen often, the property is prone to bad flooding during hurricanes. The house is always fine but it makes it difficult to leave until the water clears out."

  "Ah....how soon can I take it?"

  "There's a ten thousand dollar down payment." The landlord replies.

  "I've got it."

  "Then...as soon as you can get over here I guess."