Page 38 of Forced Into Your Arms
Vice nodded. “I believe you.”
There was something about the way he said it that made me pause. He wasn’t just accepting my answer so he could move on. He genuinely believed me.
“How are you holding up?” I asked, what I had been wondering for days, what I had been wanting to call or text him and ask.
His eyes met mine. “I’m straight.”
I wasn’t convinced and let him know I didn’t believe it. “I don’t think you are.”
He smirked as he leaned back in his seat.
“You calling me a liar?” He asked.
I shook my head.
“I’m saying you just buried your cousin. I don’t think anybody would be okay after that.”
He held my gaze for a second before looking away.
“I’ll be a’ight.” Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs and asked me, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You sleeping?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
“Probably because you look tired.”
I sat back, offended. “I’m working a twelve-hour shift. I’m supposed to look tired.”
“You looked tired when I walked in.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know, which makes it worse.”
This time he smiled, though it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. Seeing it changed his whole face, making him look less like the man everybody in the hospital seemed afraid to approach and more like somebody I could almost imagine having a normal conversation with—almost.
I checked the time on my phone and stood. “I need to get back.”
Vice stood with me. “You still got my number?”
The business card was tucked inside my bag, but I wasn’t telling him I’d looked at it more than once. “Somewhere.”
“If you remember anything, call me.”
“I know.”
“If anything feels off, call me.”
That made me look at him. “What do you mean by off?”
“Anything that don’t feel right.”
“Vice, nothing has happened since that night.”
