Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4) (5 page)

I should have shifted away from the mirror, or told
her
to look away. We didn’t coexist peacefully. I chastised myself because all I had to do was take off my underwear and step into the shower. Instead
she
hooked me through my peripheral vision like an unsuspecting fish.
She
knew I was weak when I was tired, and
she
took advantage of it. I wanted to turn away—but I couldn’t. Like a shark
she
fixated on my massacred flesh. The waters of exhaustion were the perfect opportunity for
her
to take a swim in my wounded mind.
She
swam in the waters of my anxiety, compulsion, and ritualism while I stood helpless on the shore side of the looking glass. They ripped
her
spirit apart with their bloodthirsty appetite. The voice in my mind screamed for
her
to fight, to turn away from the perilous waters, but when I was exhausted
she
swam alone in a masochistic ocean. I couldn’t pull the broken girl from the riptide.

I watched a tear warm
her
skin as I reached behind to undo the clasp of my bra. Hypnotized by the girl in the mirror the breath I was holding escaped.
She
watched the garment loosen on my breasts. It slowly danced down
her
curves and hit the floor at my feet. My perfectly manicured fingers caught the edges of lavender panties and
she
watched with sick fascination. For one, brief moment we were connected by our love of the color purple, but it wasn’t strong enough to hold us together in our striptease. I pulled them down over the image of
her
hips and they added to the pile on the floor. The logical side of me was sacrificed to the unlovely girl.
She
was beaten with a whip made of memories, all to pay for the sins of an event that should have never taken place.

I stood beside
her
watching and felt the dampness on my skin as
she
suffered the strokes of a commemorative accident that tore apart her heart. The memories braided and formed leathery strands that flayed
her
confidence until s
he
was bloody. I’d been a witness to this scene many times before and no good ever came from it. Years of both of us staring at the scars only exacerbated the self-judgment.
Her
gaze traveled up, connecting our eyes, and I felt
her
energy spiraling down as she examined her skin. I mapped a fleshy star of pinkish-white. In the mirror,
she
traced it with
her
fingers. I cupped my breasts as
she
watched. Implants to correct their inconsistencies provided an aesthetic victory by improving their shape and size. Although plastic surgery also improved the scaring on my skin, the remembrance of jagged words was stronger than sanity. In this fatigued state of mind, even a seed of positivity was killed by a revulsive weed.

The smooth glass rippled with aversion as
she
followed a scared trail over
her
shoulder. It snaked down
her
collarbone in multiple shades of red and pink until it reached the tip of
her
nipple. Obsessed,
she
fixated on the imperfect.
Her
fingers concentrated on an indiscernible shape known only by width, length and ragged edges. The front and back looked like the devil touched
her
with a wretched claw. It condemned
her
to a girlish hell where strapless dresses and bathing suits burned in the flames. I breathed in
her
pain.
She
didn’t recognize herself as the beautiful survivor that I saw
her
to be, only a victim.

I ran my fingers through my hair and pulled at the sore spot on the backside of my head.
She
looked back at me as
she
inched through the chestnut strands.
There, in a carefully guarded hiding place, was a hairpiece attached to my scalp with skin-safe glue. It was slightly larger than a silver dollar, as was the bald spot it covered.
She
gripped and pulled. There was a popping sound as the suction released it from my skin. I felt
her
grow weak. Instantly victorious, I sensed the scales were about to be balanced. It was time to try to put the pitiful bitch of self-debasement back in
her
cage.

I don’t know for how long, but I closed my eyes to center myself. When I opened them I reached for a small bottle of alcohol. I placed the soaked cotton where the hairpiece had been and used a Kleenex to remove the sticky residue. Massaging the spot with gentle fingers, I hoped it would ease some of the tension that had formed tightly around my head as my mind reconnected. Although I felt sorry for
her
, I hated that girl.

This
was my life. My hurt.
Mine!
I owned my appearance and I could do whatever I wanted to do to change it. The woman whose thoughts took over my reflection was my enemy. My anger was nowhere near abated. Hatred diluted my blood. My carefully guarded serenity was crushed. I hated the children who created the fractured girl, and I hated the fractured girl for unraveling my self-assurance. I ran my fingers through my hair for consolation, but all I could feel was their remaining energy buzzing into my head through the follicles. I was pissed at them. I wanted them to die.

So I ripped them out.

It was a sweet revenge. A follicular assassination. The only way that I could delude myself into believing that I was still in control. With each one that I ripped from my scalp a little of the pain floated away. It hurt good, leaving behind a numbing peace. It had been several years since my hair was executed for the disgraced girl’s crimes but, nonetheless, it was a necessary death. I loved and loathed the process equally, but I owned it. Once the brief insanity was over, it left me feeling normal.

Whatever normal was.

I lost track of time as I humiliated the insecure girl inside by ripping out her hair. With each strand that was torn I felt a little more in control. She was represented by the threads on the floor and as parts of her fell from my fingers but when I looked down, a small pile of hair laid on the floor. I picked it up and threw it in the trashcan. It was over. I was tired and I was done with this shit.
She
had diverted my attention and I paid her back. It was over.
Done!

I grabbed my underwear and went into the bathroom. The cold tile contrasted my overheated skin. Hot steam filled the room as I defiantly stood under the scalding spray. Its pounding warmth assaulted me as it took my breath away and loosened my muscles. My thoughts cleared as the rest of the debauchery trickled down the drain. All I wanted was to get a good night’s sleep and put this night behind me. There was drinking and dancing in my future.

As I wrapped a fluffy towel around me, I rubbed my skin until it glowed. The sheets cooled my skin under the chilly cotton and I hibernated beneath the comforter. I felt as clean on the inside as I was on the outside. I snuggled into the pillows and cleared my mind so I could sleep. My power was returning. I’d be damned if anything else would interfere with the good time I had planned because, dammit, this city was the hub of good times.

And I deserved to have mine.

F
alcon Grey had posed an intimidating presence in the hotel security office that morning. He stood tall at six foot two inches with shoulders as wide as a semi-truck. His biceps strained against his clothes. By anyone’s standards he was a strong, thick man, big-boned some would say, and had an intense, determined look with a solid square jaw. As a Special Forces Navy S.E.A.L. he was a home grown, loyal to the bone, American made fighting machine. He’d served several tours of duty and, during his last one; he’d been sidelined by an injury. Months later he was cleared for duty, but never saw another active tour. He served out his commitment and decided not to push his luck by re-enlisting. Because of his stature most of his skills were rarely tested, but on those rare occasions when they were, he loved a good bar fight. Right now, the smaller man in front of him was very chatty—and was testing his patience—but he could play well with others when he had an ulterior motive. The hotel security officer eyed the business card he had handed him with a skeptical eye.

“Sir, it isn’t the habit of this hotel to surrender information on a guest.”

Falcon anticipated the resistance and reached into his pocket for another form of identification. He flipped the leather open displaying his government issue.

“So, will this do it for you?” His lips broke into a lopsided grin as the man’s eyes widened.

“Of course, sir,” he nodded. “Anything for Homeland Security.”

As the gentleman went to the computer to get Paige’s information, Falcon saw the office assistant from the corner of his eye. She drooled shamelessly at her desk as she looked him over from head to toe. No matter. He tucked her reaction in his mental file cabinet. It might prove useful in the future.

Now more than ever, security was a necessity, not a luxury and, although he was a little inconvenienced, he appreciated the smaller man’s reluctance. Currently cyber security was the most vulnerable, as well as the most desired, area of protection for major corporations as well as small businesses. It was nice to know that this man was still protective over hotel guests. Hackers grew savvier each day and, once they compromised guest information, they exposed the economic structure to frequent attacks within a wireless world. Everyone was at risk but most people didn’t understand how large the problem was; the corruption of international securities and investments could collapse governments. Within the last fifteen years several countries had been victim. In order to be an effective opponent against the deep Internet, knowledge was the power to be gained and exchanged. This was Falcon’s area of expertise and was the purpose for this trip. Paige was an added bonus.

Since the Securities Trade shows was what brought him to Vegas, his plan was to gain exposure and represent MarSin Falcon to potential clients. If there were anything groundbreaking to be presented at the show, he would educate himself on the new technology. It was supposed to be a business trip, pure and simple, but when he made his reservations the clerk also mentioned that a real estate convention was being held there at the same time. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that Paige was in the field. He didn’t seriously consider that their paths would cross but last night, when he spotted her, his mood lifted considerably. He could blame it on that little yellow dress because the last time he saw her she was wrapped in layers against the mountain’s winter cold. He thought she might be pissed at him, and with good reason. He hadn’t kept in touch with her like he promised. Business had kept him so damn busy that time slipped away. It wasn’t an excuse but a reason. If his plan worked out, hopefully he’d get to spend some time with her

“Here you go, sir.” The security officer handed him a piece of paper with Paige’s room number and telephone extension.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” Falcon extended his arm to shake the man’s hand and gave him a few business cards. “Give me a call if you guys need a consult. I know you have the latest and greatest, but it never hurts to hear about what’s out there from another point of view.” He tucked the paper inside the pocket of his jacket and had nearly reached the door when the blonde cleared her throat to get his attention. She had waited until the other man disappeared into his office before approaching Falcon. Rolling her chair from behind the desk, she crossed her long legs in a seductive manner, giving him a glimpse of what hid beneath her skirt. She ran her finger down her throat and gave him a hungry look.

“If you need anything while you’re here, sir, give me a call.”

When she stood, the skirt she wore barely covered her ass. She walked up to him, and slipped a business card in his hand.

“My numbers on the back. Call me if you need some company. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

Amused, he placed the card in his pocket and smiled back at her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

H
e positioned himself on the casino floor, right across from the elevators. If Paige left the hotel she’d have to pass him by. Until that time, he’d throw a little money in the slots. He’d been having a run of good luck since he saw Paige last night.