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eyes.”
    I open my eyes and he leans forward to lay a soft kiss on my forehead, letting his lips linger on my skin for a moment. “That’s enough for tonight.”
    “You’re leaving?”
    “I’ll be back tomorrow evening.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip then pinches my chin softly. “I was right. You are beautiful.”

Chapter Five
    M y first night back to work after two weeks recuperating was tense, but I expected nothing less. Aasif threatened to replace me on the third day I called in sick. On the fourth day I called in, his tone had changed. He was understanding, though I sensed reluctance. As if his hand were being forced.
    “Take as much time as you need,” he said, his voice gritty with tension. “Your job will be here when you get back.”
    I don’t care if Aasif doesn’t really want me there. I don’t even care if someone forced him not to fire me. What I do care about is this feeling that it may have been Daimon who got to Aasif.
    It’s ridiculous. Why would Daimon care if I get to keep my job? I’m flattering myself with thoughts that he worries about me. I’ve allowed myself to feel comfortable in his presence. I let him touch me and I allowed myself to touch him. But that doesn’t mean that he cares about my well-being.
    The truth is that it was probably my father who threatened Aasif not to fire me. My father can be just as persuasive as Daimon. And my father may not be the most honest man or the best father in the world, but I know he at least does not want me to starve.
    I know this from the monthly deposits made into my bank account. My father always deposits five hundred dollars on the twenty-seventh day of each month. He knows I don’t make much working at the gas station. And living in L.A. is expensive. Five hundred dollars is just enough to ensure that I don’t starve, but not enough for me to live comfortably, by any means.
    My father didn’t think I would last in the real world, but he underestimated how well he’d trained me. Because my father didn’t just teach me how to fight my enemies. He also taught me how to outsmart them.
    And I’ve been outsmarting my mother and father for eight months now.
    I grab the bar that hangs from the doorframe leading into the bathroom and I do the usual fifty pull-ups. Afterward, I tape my hands under the stove light and head into the dark living room. Feeling my way around, I shove the coffee table out of the way. Then I take out my aggression on the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room for a good hour.
    I live extremely modestly. I don’t have a gym membership. I don’t get my hair and nails done. I don’t buy unnecessary clothing and home furnishings. I eat just enough to maintain my weight while keeping myself trained. This is how I’ve been able to pay all my rent and expenses and still save every penny my father deposits into my bank account, plus a bit more of my own money.
    I have to be ready to leave if anyone starts sniffing around here looking for answers about how I got this knife wound. Or if Daimon turns on me.
    He said he’d come back the next day, but he never came before I left for work at eleven p.m. I got back from the gas station at 5:12 a.m. this morning. I’ve been working out for more than an hour. The sun will be coming up soon. He lied. Everybody lies.
    I peel away the tape from my hands and toss it into the trash bin in the kitchen. Then I head to the bathroom to shower. I’ve removed the light bulbs from every fixture in the apartment. Even I am susceptible to temptation every so often. Removing the bulbs removes the danger of me falling victim to my own morbid curiosity.
    I undress in the dark. The bathroom has the most natural light of any room in the apartment. The only thing covering the sixteen-inch square window opposite the mirror is a set of plastic blinds. A small amount of light seeps through the cracks on both the left and right side of the slats, but I’m okay with that. I need a