Dirty Nails by Regina Bartley

and a few mumbled words.
                  That was it.
                  One minute was all it took for his mood to be turned upside down.
                  “Everything okay?” I asked when I knew I shouldn’t have.
                  “Fine.”
                  Okay.
                  I stood up from my seat and stretched my arms above my head. My muscles were still aching and the soreness in my face was returning.
                  “I’m going to go and get some aspirin and refill my drink. Do you want anything?”
                  “No,” he said.
                  I could see the muscles in his jaw flinch and I wondered why he’d gone back to being so cold.
                  I started to walk away.
                  “I should probably go with you. I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight, and I can’t have you getting into trouble.”
                  I’d almost risk a smack to my face to laugh at that comment. We were having a good time. Then like a light switch he turned it off.
                  I was so dumb to think that he’d be different than anyone else. He was the right hand man, and I was totally overstepping my bounds. Fourteen years of being the quiet observer I’ve learned a lot about people. What makes them tick, what keeps them happy, and most of all what kind of an effect Maxwell Costin has on their lives.
                  I swallowed the pills, and rinsed my glass out. “I think I’m going to pass on the movie. I’m just going to go to bed.”
                  His arm came across the front of my body and rested on the sink. He was blocking me from walking away. “I’m just doing my job.” He said.
                  I looked up at him. “I know.” My voice was soft. “And I’m supposed to be doing mine.”
                  His eyes narrowed and he searched for the answers in my eyes.
                  “I’m sorry that I made myself so comfortable around you. That isn’t something I normally do. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on. I’d hate for you to get into trouble because of me, and those knuckles of yours hurt.” My eyes glassed over. I felt so stupid that I flirted.
                  When he started to speak, I stopped him.
                  “Don’t okay,” I sighed. “Let’s just go about things the way we started, where you barely speak, and I keep to myself. It’s safer for the both of us. I’ll be in my room the rest of the night.”
                  “What about our movie?” He asked. Of all the things I’d just said, he was worried about the movie. He looked just like a small child and I almost gave in. I almost reached for his hand and took him back to the movie room, but I couldn’t do that. 
                  “Another time. Goodnight, Sketch.”
                 

Seven- Party planning
     
                  Two days of solitude had me itching for Max’s return. The past days were spent alone in my room watching bad reality TV, and only coming out when I was hungry. I managed to give myself both a manicure and pedicure in my alone time, but mainly I cleaned. Sketch stayed posted up outside my door most of the time, but we hardly spoke anymore. It was easier that way.
                  While cleaning out my closet, I found my journal from my first few months here with Max. It was the first time that I’d stirred up anything from my past. At first I didn’t want to read it, but after it stared at me from my bedside table for an entire day, I broke down. I tried hard not to remember what happened in my past. Forgetting was so much simpler, and anytime I asked Max about my parents he’d get angry. He said it wasn’t something that we should discuss. I knew that he missed them and that