Whitewashed

It's Not Personal

Chapter 13: It's Not Personal

How had I not seen this coming?

I'm almost irate at myself. HOW had I not factored in this obvious possibility? Haz knocks a third time, the sound sending a shiver of fear down my spine.

Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away.

Maybe he doesn't know-

"Ozzie, I know you're in there."

Shit. Of course.

"You don't even have to open the door, I just want to talk," he sounds tired.

"Leave or I'm calling the police," I threaten, the words slipping from my mouth before I can assess the damage they might do. Is this it? Is this me choosing Liam? If I call the police, there is no going back. I will be blacklisted from the entirety of downtown. I won't be able to go anywhere near the warehouse, Duke's, Kismet, or the auto shop.

Tommo would likely be out for my blood and Liam... Liam might find out about everything.

If he did, he would realize I had lied to him AND (technically) cheated on him which means I would likely be shunned from here too.

Haz was wrong. If things went south with Head Rush, I'd have nowhere to go.

I would have to leave and never come back.

And as far as being revenge driven in this culture goes, I might not be able to run far enough. They might find me no matter where I go.

So calling the police really isn't an option, but Haz doesn't have to know that.

"You've had every chance to do that since the moment we met. I don't think you'd change that now," his voice is low, rough.

Slowly, carefully, I walk forward and put the chain lock on the door, "Do you doubt me?"

"Let's just talk-"

"I don't think there's anything left to say," I stare intensely at the barrier as if my gaze could burn through it and reach him. "You could have killed me."

"But I didn't," Haz's response is fast, not in a defensive way, but it sounds like he's verbally trying to cling to a life line. "Lots of people could have killed you, like Tommo or POGs, but you're not mad at them."

"You know EXACTLY how I feel about Tommo and POGs never tried to kill me!" I hiss, my skin tingling with rage.

"POGs carries BOMBS in his POCKETS, I'm pretty sure that's not exactly taking preventative measures!" Haz argues quietly, obviously trying not to shout.

It's not a particularly heated statement, yet it makes me furious.

"Well I don't rely on HIM to feel safe in a place where EVERYONE is apparently trying to kill me!" I have to refrain from yelling and alerting the neighbors of Haz's presence. If this were my apartment, I would have probably kicked the door in anger.

At first, there's no response and I'm involuntarily afraid that maybe he left or something was preventing him from answering, but as I wait, I almost miss it.

His voice is so quiet, like he's coming to a sudden realization.

I, of all people, should know what that sounds like.

"You rely on... ME to feel safe?"

"Not anymore," it's more of a cutting remark than a fact. "Now go away or I'm calling the cops!"

A small clicking sound reaches my ears and the door swings towards me, only to be stopped by the chain. Thank goodness for forethought.

"What the hell are you doing?" I shout, rushing forward to close the barrier.