Page 137 of Haze of Obedience

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Forty-two."

"I'm thirty-eight."

"I know."

"Oh, right. I forgot for a moment that you're my stalker."

"And proud of it. Get in the back so I can explicitly be your servant."

I laugh and obey.

He follows, and we strip as he says, "I really can't believe you've never driven a car, and you're thirty-eight."

"Don't make me feel bad."

"I'm not trying to. I'm just surprised, that's all."

"I live in a different world."

His face falls.

"What did I say wrong?"

He hesitates.

"What?"

"When all this is over and you can go back to living a normal life, what do you want that to look like?"

Blood pounds in my ears.

"What are you asking me?"

He quietly asks, "What does your ideal life look like?"

My eyes water. "I don't know. I've been in survival mode so long, I haven't had the luxury to even let myself consider what it could be."

An expression I can't decipher fills his face, and it makes me nervous.

I blab from my anxiety. "I'm a hot mess. I should have my life together, and I don't. I can't even enjoy singing anymore. Well, that's what I thought, but then I would sing for Santiago and his men. There was this one moment I felt the excitement of performing, but then the reality of who I was playing for and my situation hit me and ruined it. I'd realize how screwed up I was to have any joy in entertaining those evil thugs. And I don't even have my house anymore. The management team pretty much took it over. I didn't even realize it was happening until it was too late. So I'm thirty-eight, and I have no clue what my ideal life should be. Everything I've worked for is in shambles. And I don't even know if there is any piece of it I would want back."

He stays quiet, and my heart races. The longer he stares at me, tracing my cheekbone and jaw, the worse I feel.

"I'm sorry I don't have it together. I should. And there should be some big dream right now, but I don't know anything anymore. All the things I thought I wanted turned out to be a nightmare, so I sound like a loser but—"

He slides his finger over my lip. "You are anything but a loser. More talent resides in your pinky than my entire body. And you don't have to have anything figured out. I should have been more straightforward about my question."

I stare at him, not sure what he means.

"What I should have asked is when this is over, do you think you'll be happy in my world? Or, do you think I will fit into yours? You said we come from different worlds, and you're correct."

I grasp his cheeks. "The only good thing in my world is you. I don't want to go back to how it was, and I don't want to go back to anything without you. I'm aware you have your life together, and I'm dragging it down—"

"Don't say that."

"It's true. I'm a mess."