Page 31 of Burn Protocol

She doesn’t text me, doesn’t call me, doesn’t acknowledge me, and by Sunday it becomes too much. I snatch my phone from the coffee table and flex my jaw before I type out a message.

14:11 Maya Carter –

Hey, I really enjoyed Friday. Thank you for that.

I stare at the message and immediately hate myself for being weak and caving. Elena clearly made a point when she dropped me off at the apartment. This thing should stay purely professional. And she was right to do so, of course she was. I don’t know why I even indulged myself in believing it could be something more. You are a sucker for punishment, and she is unavailable. Of course you are into that. I clench my teeth again and type out another message.

14:13 Maya Carter –

Do you have time on Monday to sit with me for our first real interview? I’d like to ask some questions so I can start shaping this article.

Thanks.

I have used those words in different variations often enough, but this time they feel distant and cold as I press send. I throw the phone back on the table. Tears spring into my eyes and I bite my lip. This fucking crush. It is too much. I clutch my chest and startle as my phone buzzes hard against the glass.

14:18 E. Gonzales –

Friday was good. Let’s meet Monday at 8 a.m. sharp.

I stare at the text, blinking. No joke, no jab, no warmth. Just as curt and professional as the first day we met. Like my text before hers. I swallow as I realize we are right back where we started, but at least this time she doesn’t seem to hate me.

With a deep sigh I stretch my body off the couch and walk over to my desk. Time to read through my notes and prepare my questions. Perhaps Elena will actually answer a few of them this time.

***

I am already seated at the long table in the cantina when Elena sinks into the chair next to me. My gaze automatically scans her face and I see dark smudges under her usually sparkling eyes. Her mouth is set in a thin line, and her hair is tied back so tight that I feel it in my own roots.

“El, are you okay?” I ask as I brush my fingers against her wrist.

Her head snaps up and she snatches her arm back as if I burned her.

“I’m fine. Didn’t sleep much,” she barks.

She pushes her chair back so suddenly that it scrapes over the floor with a high screech. I flinch and stare at her. For a brief moment my response seems to startle her, but then she rolls her shoulders back and walks to the kitchen.

“Coffee?” She growls more than she asks.

I shake my head, afraid to make too much of a sound. She just shrugs and pours out the last remains from the pot. Her fingers move quickly and nimbly as she inserts a new filter and measures the ground beans. All that time, she keeps her back turned toward me, leaving me in silence. I stare at her, uncertain about what I did wrong this time. My fingers twitch in my lap as I contemplate reaching out to her, but I know that might do more harm than good. So, I remain quiet, as I observe Elena’s movements. Harsh, cutting, direct.

After a few minutes, the coffee begins to drip and she sinks back into the chair in front of me, waiting impatiently for there to be enough in the pot. Her eyes dart to mine, before she closes them briefly and nods.

“Ask your questions.”

My voice trembles as I ask her if she is sure. “We can always do it another time.”

“No time like the present, Carter. Go.”

I swallow, nod, and reach into my side pocket for my little notebook. Then I fish out my voice recorder and put it on the table in front of us. Elena’s eyes dart to it immediately and her posture stiffens.

“Do you mind? It helps me stay focused on our conversation, and lets me go back if I need to check things,” I ask softly.

Her eyes find mine again and her jaw ticks. Her fingers curl and her lips part as if she is going to say something. Then she frowns so quickly that I almost miss it.

“Sure, go ahead.”

I startle at the coldness in her voice and swallow hard. She holds my stare with a ferocity that makes me tremble, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to crumble. She seems so angry with me. Should I have texted her sooner, or worse… invited her in? Her eyes travel over my face, and I see something behind them. Hurt? Her mask slams back into place before I can find out.

“Don’t interviews usually have questions?”