Sweet Talk (COMPLETE)

34 - Slow Movements

While Jake was at work, I spent the day straightening the apartment and organizing my things. Scooby the Second was still hiding in his shoebox. Smiling, I carried him to the bedroom and set him on my pillow.

Looking for a job would be better than cleaning Jake's already spotless home, but the idea of leaving the safety of the apartment sent a twinge of fear down my spine. Not to mention the bruises that were still too colorful to hide with makeup.

I'd gotten more than one strange look while we were out yesterday. Unfortunately, Jake had gotten a couple, too. He said nothing, but I saw and I hated it. People looked at us and assumed he was like Evan, when nothing could be further from the truth.

I'd give myself a couple days, but then I had to get to work. Searching for a job wouldn't be easy. I'd need somewhere willing to work around my school hours, that didn't require experience outside of working at a gas station, and that wasn't bothered by months of unexplained unemployment.

Sighing, my shoulders slumped under the pressure. I shook my head. Dragging all this negativity behind me wasn't the way to start fresh. Pulling my cell from my pocket, I decided to search from home. Maybe some place was accepting applications online.

After a couple of hours, I'd applied to two places. One was a fast food place twenty minutes from campus. The other was a coffee shop on campus. Working on campus would be ideal, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. I rarely even ordered from coffee shops, let alone worked at one.

Three places were doing in-person interviews only, and I'd check on them later. It was a start, even if none of these jobs would pay enough for me to get a place on my own.

I collapsed on the couch. If I hadn't been such an idiot, I'd still have my place with Michelle. I loved living with her, and now she was living with Theo. It would've happened at some point anyway, and I was happy for them. It just sucked for me.

I soaked in self pity for a few minutes, but stopped before tears could form. Things could definitely be worse. I should be grateful for what I had. Worrying about where I'd live could wait until later.

Getting up, I went to the kitchen to dig through the pantry and find something for dinner. Forty minutes later, I had a pot of beef and vegetable soup simmering on the stove. As I washed the knife and cutting board, keys rattled outside the door and it opened a second later.

"Camilla? I'm home!" Jake called from the entryway and stomped inside.

My brow furrowed. Why was he being so loud? I met him in the living room with a giggle. "Are you drunk?"

"What?" He chuckled. "It's three thirty, and I just got home from work. Why would I be drunk?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "You're just noisier than usual."

Jake moved toward the kitchen and I followed as he dropped his keys on the counter. "You've just been a little jumpy, and I didn't want to sneak up on you."

"Oh." Was it that obvious? "Sorry if I've been weird. I—"

"You haven't!" He turned to face me. "You're fine." His face softened. "Thanks for cooking again."

"No problem."

He patted my hip as he moved toward the stove, and I gasped. He froze. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." I shook my head. Jake didn't know about the bruising he couldn't see. He didn't ask, and I didn't tell him. The over-the-counter medicine for pain and swelling I'd been taking was doing its job, and I was already getting better.

"Camilla, what's wrong with your side?"

"Nothing."

His eyes narrowed, and I blew out a slow breath. "It's just sore. It's no big deal."