Insubordinate ( Gay ) ( BxB )

Chapter Six ✓

We ride in silence. 

I cradle a cigarette listlessly, balancing it between my fingers and lips. The window is rolled down just enough for the smoke to slip out and for the cold to seep in. I can see Coen glance at me every now and then to see if I've finished- however, I take my time.

"How often do you smoke?" He asks, the first words he's spoken to me since we left the bridge. 

I take a long drag, sucking in some icy air behind it before releasing my lungs from the muffle of smoke. "Often." I tell him simply.

"Let me rephrase that- how much a day?" Coen asks. 

"A pack, maybe?" I shrug. "What? Do you want one?"

Coen steals a look at the cigarette carton laid on my lap and the Chinese dragon lighter poking from my pocket. "No." He says firmly. "I'm trying to quit."

"Oh, is that so?" I sigh, taking another drag. "Over the past fourteen years I've tried off and on to quit, but I've come to realize that it's pointless."

"It's not pointless." Coen corrects. "You prolong your life without them."

"I'm not looking to prolong anything." I chuckle.

"What a typical mindset for someone like you."

"What's like me, asshole?"

"Heel." Coen scoffs. "Never mind."

"I'm not your dog."

I take a final drag and flick the remnants of my cigarette out the window. I give Coen a long, hard stare as I let the last of the smoke seep from my mouth and nostrils. He ignores me.

:

             When we arrive back at the building, the desk bitch doesn't notice us as we pass her to reach the elevator. I almost wished she would've. But instead, she taps away with those gnarled nails, completely unresponsive to the rest of the world. What did she get paid for besides just sitting on her ass and taking shit from strangers? What a useless person. 

I notice that our floor is more dispersed and empty as I snake my way through in step behind Coen. Once we reach his office, I stop just inside of the threshold and stand idly as the door ease shut behind me. Settling down behind his desk, Coen raises a brow at me in expectancy. 

"Do you just prefer to stand up or something?" He asks. 

"If it's what I feel like." I tell him blankly.

Coen smiles, pinching the bridge between his eyes, laughing a bit to himself, "Of course."

I saunter forwards and prompt, "So go ahead."

"And what?"

"You know what I mean." 

Coen l lets out a breathe of exasperation, leaning lazily on his elbows. "Straight to it then?"

"Just tell me what you think you know." I say.

"I think I know enough." Coen answers. "When you called, you accidentally gave me the wrong last name. You corrected it, of course, but anyone who knows me knows that I'm very investigative. I was trained to be."

"So?"

"Look, Aaron," Coen nonchalantly taps his fingers on the desk. "There are limited residents in Toronto, Ontario with your name."

I clench my mouth shut.

"But even after searching through them, all of them- I couldn't find anyone that looked like you." Coen tilts his head. "But you did give me a birthday that matches only one of the Aaron Beckett's, so I used that to narrow it down- but that's not you, is it?"