Never Ending

~16~

Carter's POV

"... a barricade has been set up on 2101 NASA parkway by infuriated mobs..." I wake up to the sound of the TV. "'There is nothing we can do to calm these people down,' the sheriff of Harriss county told NYNC this morning." I tune out the sound of the TV and head for my daily exercise. After a five kilometer jog on Broadway street, I return to Tara's apartment. It's 5:30 when I arrive. I take a quick shower and put on dress pants from my Suede Armani suit. I leave the rest lying neatly on the bed as I go to the kitchen to make breakfast before I leave.

"Eggs... bacon... bread..."I mumble as I pull out ingredients. I am making toast. I am certain Tara will like it, she lo- likes everything I make. I had to learn how to cook for that reason; she can't cook for the life of her. Speaking of which, I remember the cryptic letter she received three days ago. Tara doesn't know that I had opened it before her and read through; she doesn't need to know that either.

Fiona Jenkins, I know the woman. Beside having multiple interviews with her, we've had, say, a few interesting, confidential conversations, most of which ended with her shooting daggers of helpless rage. Very peachy conversations. I presume she contacted Tara because of the files she has from her mother; files I am itching to lay my hands on. But if Tara has them, it's only a matter of time and they'll be mine.

I smell the burnt toast before I even see it. Scrambling to get it off the stove, I knock down a pitcher of juice. "Fuck." I turn off the gas before squatting and picking up the shards of glass. A shard I had not seen cuts my palm. Blood starts dripping onto the white tiles leaving ugly red marks. I get up quickly and head to the bathroom. What a rotten way to start the morning.

"Hey." Tara stops me as she gets out of her room. She looks me over with squinted eyes. Either she's still sleepy or she is concerned about me, I don't know which. Her eyes land on my injured hand that is still bleeding profusely. "Get in here." she ushers me in hurriedly. I follow her without protest. She opens a door on the left end of her room, revealing a small bathroom with lavender tiles, a bathtub that covers almost half the bathroom and an overcrowded vanity table.

"Sit." She points to the edge of the bathtub and turns to the cabinet. From where I am sitting, I can not help but see her ass. In very short, blue pajama shorts, everything is on display, not to mention that she has to bend to get the first aid kit. I clear my throat, hoping to clear my head in the process. I look away.

She pulls my hand towards her and tenderly applies ointment where I was cut. Wordlessly, she cleans my wound and dresses it in a double bandage. She gets up from her squatting position and leaves the bathroom. I follow her out more disoriented than before. Maybe it's the proximity or the scent of her perfume wafting in every corner of her room. I have to get out of her fast. I make for the door but Tara blocks my way. "Where are you going? She asks. She holds out her hand and without thinking I give her mine. She pulls out a small heart sticker and sticks it on the edge of the bandage. I look at her with confusion. "Be careful." she says softly.

She ushers me out and closes the door. To distract myself from my confused mind and equally confused body, I clean up the mess, whip up a quick breakfast and leave the house.

I park my car. Cameramen swarm every side of it before I can even turn off the engine. I take a deep steadying breath and open the door. The second my foot hits the ground, cameras start flashing. I get out languidly, and pick up my briefcase. The walk from the VIP parking spots to the entrance of the new Cavon Motor industry, seems so long with all eyes trained on me. I make sure to keep my face neutral and my gait regal.

I step into the air conditioned building to the applause of a hundred or so employees. They are the ones who'll be in charge of producing quality services until they can't anymore, in which case they'll be fired. I spot Ded instantly. Not one for grand entrances, he must have entered silently through a back door. Like the snake he is.