CHULA | Miss Bala

ONE

In a span of a few days, I'd gone from an underpaid Californian make-up artist to a CIA special asset.

My life was anything but ordinary, and it was only going to get more complicated.

✔

...three, two, one.

I emerged out of the water, gulping up air and blindly grasping the handles of my tub.

I took several breaths until I was no longer greedy for the next one. Palming my face with both hands, I took a mental note of my new record. Two minutes and fifteen seconds. Not bad.

As I rose from the tub, I told myself—just like I'd been doing for the last five months—that I was training my lungs, not trying to drown away my thoughts, my memories. It was illogical.

Suzu was okay. Chava was okay. That was all that mattered.

I stepped out of the tub and pulled on a fluffy bathrobe, wrapping a head towel around my recently shorn hair. I walked out of the bathroom and right into my walk-in closet. 

Something red and silky drew my attention. Hanging at the end of the rail of dresses was my worst reminder.

I shouldn't have kept the dress, but I did. It would have been easier to tell myself it was a magnificent garment that didn't deserve to be thrown away. But deep down it was far from that.

"I did what I had to do, chula."

My heart turned inside out at hearing that sensual voice in my head. Like a madman, I abruptly turned around.

I was all alone.

Suddenly angry at myself for letting my thoughts get to me, I shouted, "Alexa! Play my favorite playlist, full volume."

Playing Gloria's favorite playlist. The AI device responded.

Immediately, music was bouncing off the walls, nearly deafening me, but I wanted the memories gone, I wanted the heaviness of my heart lifted.

With a newly built wall around me, I proceeded with getting ready for the day. "It's a new day, Gloria. Make it count."

An hour later, I was walking out of my bedroom in black jeans, a leather jacket, white tank top and strappy heels. My shoulder-length hair was tied up into a ponytail, leaving my subtly makeup-adorned face fully exposed.

I loved the look, it made me feel powerful.

A sound from somewhere in the apartment stopped me in my tracks, instantly quickening the pace of my heartbeat. So much for feeling powerful.

"Alexa, stop the music."

When it went dead silent, I strained my ears towards the direction of the sound I'd heard. It came again, and I realized it was coming from the kitchen.

I reached for the hallway table, pulled out a Glock 19 from underneath the surface and stealthily walked towards the kitchen.

If it was a burglar, they had some nerve breaking into my home. Plus, who the hell was dumb enough to do it at nine in the morning.

Without hesitation, I raised my gun and stormed into the kitchen. "Hands where I can see them!".

As soon as I set eyes on my intruder I slipped off my finger from the trigger, letting out a breath of relief and exasperation.

It was Jim. "Damn, someone's a little paranoid today," he said, smirking. He continued to slap on large chunks of nutella onto a slice of bread.

"Jesus, Jim! I could have hurt you. What the hell are you doing?"