“Twinkle, I… hate sounding like a controlling prick—”
“Well, then don’t,” I snap, knowing too well where he’s going with this. Another reason I want to move out.
“I’m not stupid, Tia. I can see the looks you guys exchange. And now you jog together?” He raises his eyebrows, almost touching his hairline.
“He’s a flirt. We’re just having fun.”
Alek shakes his head. “Victor is not the flirty type. I mean, he’s gotten as many girls as he wants to, but he’s not a player. He doesn’t play games. Since you came here, he’s been acting all weird. I think he’s forgotten he has balls.”
I laugh. “Thanks for the image, brother.”
Alek gives me a faint smile. “I want you to be careful.”
“I am.”
Alek looks me straight in the eye. “Victor broke the jaw of some guy behind the College of Education building. In his defense, he told me it was the other guy’s fault, and I believe him. But Twinkle, I don’t want you to be surrounded by that kind of thing. You’ve seen enough.”
“Then why don’t you let me go to the dorms?”
His breathing accelerates. His hands fly to his head. “Ugh. I’m so torn. I don’t want you to go there and I don’t want you to be around Victor.”
The shadows under his eyes appeared only after I moved in. I don’t want him to suffer.
“He’ll never hurt me physically, Alek. Actually, I feel safe around Victor.”
His eyes peek between his long fingers. “I know he won’t. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” He drops his hands with a thump on the soft bed.
“But?” I ask. There’s always a but.
“But he can break your heart. Don’t you understand—you’ll be his distraction from his hard training with his abusive father. Then he’s going to Las Vegas. And what are you going to do?”
I swallow hard. I need to think about it.
Alek extends his hand and pats the top of mine. “I used to be able to protect you when we were children. And I want to do it now.”
Oh, the irony. I have two strong men who vow to protect me, while I know too well neither of them can.
“Thanks, Alek,” is all I say, and he leaves the room.
I open up my laptop and search for campus jobs on the school website. But my brain wants to think about Victor instead, and doesn’t care about me making money.
What made Victor choose fighting? He seems to solve all his problems with it and embraces the image of the Bull. I Google his name and his stats come up. I click on the link to the YouTube video of his fight. And I immediately understand why Victor is the Bull.
He walks into the cage with confidence, face stoic, and as soon as the gate is locked and they touch hands, he charges at his opponent. He pounds the other guy, who has no chance at all. I turn up the volume slightly, quickly glancing at the open door, then back at my monitor. The announcer declares that Victor “The Bull” Cornelius has never lost a fight, all wins with knockouts within the first round. I take a series of deep breaths. Victor is now on top of the other guy with his fists relentlessly connecting with the guy’s head. Blood splatters on the floor, and my stomach churns. The other man’s arms flop to his sides and the referee grabs Victor at the shoulder to stand him up. I lower the laptop screen and gaze out the window. That fight was intense. All sixty seconds of it.
Victor’s reaction to my secret makes more sense now. He is ready to charge at Charlie and pound his head into the ground just like he’s done in his fights. It might work for Victor in the ring, but it won’t work with a well-connected and protected drug dealer.
I pat around the bed until I find my phone, and scan the screen for messages. I take a deep breath. Nothing. I haven’t heard from Charlie or his henchman in four days.
I open up my computer again and close out YouTube. Time to focus on my job research. I push away all thoughts of Victor. I scroll down, investigating the student jobs.
One job posting catches my eye. It says, “If you want to be happy all the time, join our team at the recreation center.” Then there is a mention of happy hormones produced by people who work out. I perk up. I could use some happy hormones. Under the post, there are multiple positions open—yoga, kickboxing, Zumba instructors and a front desk position. The front desk position snatches my attention. I don’t have the work experience for a yoga instructor or the certification that’s required, but I can still try to get a job at the gym.
I send my resume to the fitness director. My one-page work history is filled with part-time jobs—retail assistant at a beauty boutique, front desk person at a hair salon, and cashier at a fast food restaurant. I click on the send button.
The doorbell rings. My knees jerk up and my laptop bounces. I wait for a second ring, but nothing. Alek must be gone by now. Maybe it’s an Amazon delivery. I leave my laptop on my bed and make my way downstairs. I peer through the peephole but I don’t see anyone nor a box.
I crack the door open and scan the small sliver of the world. A white envelope without an address is lying on the welcome mat.
