Page 34 of Like You Know

I’d started paying more attention to our surroundings as we spoke, and my brain finally registered what I was seeing in the apartment behind him.

“Jet, what the fuck is that?” I pointed at the coffee table.

He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back with a completely neutral look on his face. “A gun,” he said matter-of-factly.

A dirty rag was spread out on the surface of the table. A handgun, along with a few other metal things I had no names for, sat on it.

“What are you doing with a gun?” I hissed.

“Cleaning it.”

“Why do you even have that thing?” Didn’t he know how often the police came looking for someone in this part of town, how quickly Fulton Academy would cancel his scholarship and dump his ass if he was caught doing anything remotely illegal?

“I have my reasons.” He leaned on the door frame, blocking my view of the weapon.

I opened my mouth to argue but snapped it closed. I had enough shit to worry about. I’d reached my threshold.

“You know what? Whatever.” I held my hands up and took a step back. “I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I’m gonna go.”

“No, Amaya, wait. Let’s head out and talk somewhere else. Just let me put a shirt on.”

“Why? So you can drag more of the most personal things in my life out of me while not telling me shit about yourself?” My voice rose along with my ire. “So I can feel close to you and then you can reject me again? I am so sick of this shit, Jet!” OK, I was pretty much shouting, and I needed to get the fuck out of there before people started coming out of their apartments—or before the tears pushing at the backs of my eyes spilled over.

“Amaya.” He said my name softly, pleadingly. My heart tugged against my chest, wanting me to fall into his arms. But no. I took another step back and shook my head.

“No, Jet. I hate that I came here. I hate that you always have a way to make me feel better about my fucked-up life. And I hate that I keep letting you hurt me. Do not follow me.”

I turned on my heel and rushed toward the elevators as the tears trickled down my cheeks.

I heard Jet curse behind me before his door slammed shut.

Part of me had been hoping he would chase after me, pull me into his arms, and make it all better. I hated that part as much as I hated that he’d slammed his door on me instead.

I turned the corner and bashed the elevator call button repeatedly. It didn’t sound like the thing was moving, so either someone was holding it up on another floor or it had broken down like the one in Mena’s part of the building often did.

With a growl of frustration, I pushed the door to the stairs open and started heading down, desperate to get to my car and far away from here.

I was so wrapped up in my own emotional mess I didn’t even hear the group of people climbing up until we were practically on top of each other. A loud laugh followed by indistinct chatter clued me in moments before we crossed paths on a landing.

Three men in their midtwenties stumbled toward me, eyes glassy and limbs loose. The one in front spotted me first and slapped at the other two until I had the full attention of all three of them. I tried to rush past, but they stood practically shoulder to shoulder, blocking the stairs.

“You’re pretty when you cry,” the one in front said. “You must be an absolute knockout when you’re happy.”

“Yeah, come on, sweetheart,” one of the others slurred. “Give us a pretty smile.”

“I dunno,” the third one chimed in, “I kind of like it when their makeup is all messed up and running down their cheeks.”

He leered at me as the others laughed.

“Excuse me, I’m running late.” I tried to push past again, my tears drying up as a chill of fear skittered down my spine.

They didn’t budge, and the one in front grabbed my arm.

“Hey, we’re trying to have a conversation here,” he snapped.

“And I’m not interested.” I set my shoulders and fixed him with a hard look. “Now take your dirty fucking hand off me before I scream so loud half the building comes running.”

They all stared at me for a beat, then burst out laughing.

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