Efren joins me, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, and I grimace. I hate orange juice.
“This is really good.” My eyes widen at the flavor exploding on my tongue.
“Is that a compliment?” He smirks.
“Seriously, how did you learn to cook like this?”
“I read a lot of cookbooks in prison.” He laughs, but something serious settles on his face.
“What was it like?” I ask after several moments of silence. My eyes plead with him to give me something. He nods briefly, his eyes softening as they meet mine.
“It was hell at first, but then Adrian was able to form an alliance inside. The protection extended to me, and I was grateful for it, but I also had to continue to pay for that protection after he left.”
“Are you still paying for it?” My gaze shifts to the bruising around his eye.
“I guess so.”
Silence creeps in for longer than I want to admit I’m comfortable with. Our time spent apart was a prison for both of us. I was confined to the maze of lies Missy left behind. Everything was made harder while dealing with my unreliable subconscious. Efren was the only logical path to understanding what was hiding there, but that meant I couldn’t get physically involved with him the way I did last night. Mixing business with pleasure is always a bad idea. Curtis Anderson was proof of that.
“We should probably talk about last night.” My eyes shift away before redirecting back to his. “It can’t happen again.”
“And why is that?” he asks, brow arching.
“It’s not right.”
His broad, muscular frame looks overbearing as he swallows and wipes his mouth. His eyes are lethal when they look into mine, like a viper ready to strike.
“We’re not doing this shit again,” he says.
“Efren—”
“When have you ever given a fuck about what’s right, Alma?”
“I don’t! But why can’t you just tell me the truth? You know something I don’t! What happened that night?”
“You were there, darling, you know what happened.” His eyes darken, and he shoves another bite into his mouth.
“I don’t remember anything, Efren. Only what you told me happened.” I’m glued to him. I feel that surge of power and anger rising in me like it did last night. “I don’t remember shit half the time, Efren. It’s…”
I think hard about whether or not to confess the next thing. The fucked up part is he already knows all my secrets. I can’t lie or hide them from him, even if I wanted to.
“It’s called dissociative amnesia,” I explain, the words heavy in my mouth. “It’s when your brain hides things fromyou. To protect you. Memories rooted in trauma hide somewhere in your mind until it’s safe to look at them.”
Efren’s shadow shifts against the wall behind him as he leans in, studying me. “Who told you that?”
“My therapist. She specializes in these types of conditions. Helps me when I can’t fill in the gaps.”
“Gaps?” He tilts his head, and I can feel his disbelief. I clutch my fork in my hand.
“Yes. There are gaps in my brain. You know what, just fucking google it.”
“I’m not googling shit, Kitten. Don’t get so defensive. Just explain it to me.”
I sigh, but then disclose what I can from what was explained to me. “There are gaps in my memory, and I either leave them blank or try to fill them with false memories. Then something will happen to trigger the real memory, like a flashback, or through the hypnosis treatment I’ve been undergoing with Dr. Verduzco.”
“So, the whole incident with Esteban? You really can’t remember?”
“No,” I whisper the confession.
