Dark Secrets(63)

        

"Do I tell you how to do your job?" she snapped and immediately regretted it. But Rodrigo, likely used to quick tempers being in the back near the kitchen and waitstaff, didn't lose his small smile. "Sorry I'm such a bitch."

"Perra?" he mused, then shook his head. "No, princesa, a perra is a crazy woman smashing out your headlights. You, you are someone who is, ah, infelize. Corazon roto. Traicionado."

Unhappy. Heartbroken. Betrayed.

That about covered it.

Except the heartbroken thing.

She was not heartbroken.

Was she angry and upset and maybe borderline psychotic over the whole thing? Sure. But not heartbroken. She didn't get heartbroken. Besides, she hadn't known Daniel long enough to have given even a small piece of her heart to him.

Had she?

No, of course not.

That was ridiculous.

"Unhappy and betrayed. Scratch the heartbroken."

"What'd he do, mi amor? He sleep with your sister? Your best friend? You need me to show him what we do to men who hurt our ladies around here?"

Faith felt her lips tip up in the first genuine smile she had felt in days.

To be perfectly honest, she didn't exactly handle the news well.

And seeing as her bar for overreacting was a bit high, that was saying something.

First of all, she really shouldn't have put her hands on him. Granted, she was pissed and she was hurt and she felt really used, but that created a drama that hadn't been necessary. It also piqued Vin's interest, which was never a good thing.

After that, she had pretty much scared off the rest of the customers with her shitty attitude. Those customers included Xander and K who had come in after they saw Daniel leave and sat to keep an eye on her. They didn't say that, of course, but she knew it when she saw it. What they thought she might do was beyond her.

After they closed, she channeled her energy into cleaning. She wasn't sure if it was some sort of defense mechanism coded into the female DNA or what, but every woman she knew stress-cleaned when they didn't have any way to get ahold of a bad situation.

Then she went home, ripped all the sheets and blankets and pillows off her bed and tossed them. She knew herself. She knew that she was channeling her feelings as much into rage as possible to keep from dealing with the others. But if she climbed in that bed and she smelled his smell on her sheets and pillows, she knew she would lose it.

She wasn't a crier by nature.

She was generally raised on the "suck it up, buttercup" mentality, something she was always grateful for. Tears were useless.

But if she got in that bed and smelled him, there was no way the tears wouldn't come. Even as she stripped the bed and remembered what had transpired there, she felt the stinging in her eyes. 

After that was all settled, she showered, took a dose of NyQuil for no other reason but that she needed to pass out and that wouldn't be possible with her mind racing like it was, and she slept on the foot of her bed.

When she woke up, there wasn't much time to think. First, she needed to visit her mom. Then she had a class. And then she needed to get home, get changed, and get to work.

Shower, sleep, repeat.

But as they days passed, it didn't seem to lessen the strange cocktail of emotions she was still having.

It was ridiculous.

She wasn't that girl.

She wasn't the 'cry into a gallon of Ben & Jerry's' girl. She wasn't a 'call your best friend and cry it out' kind of girl. And she damn sure wasn't a pathetic 'mope about it for half a week' kind of girl.

You wanted to screw with her? Fuck you very much and get the fuck out of her life.

She didn't waste time in regrets and second guessing.

But that was exactly what she had been doing when Rodrigo walked up.

"That's sweet, Rodrigo," she said, dropping her rag into the bucket and noticing how red her hands were from the hot water and bleach. The cuts had mostly healed. A few fingers still had some stubborn scabs that were around to stay for at least another few days, but they didn't hurt anymore. She wasn't some masochist soaking her hands in bleach to 'feel the pain' or some bullshit like that. "But that's not necessary."

"I worry about you," he went on, shaking his head. "I know women like you. Mi madre, mi abuela, mi hermana. They're all strong too. But sometimes I think they keep their chins up so high so no one can see the tears in their eyes, cariño."

With that insightful little comment, he moved off, leaving her to remember why she liked him so much more than the other back of the house guys.

"So, I got three calls this morning," Corey said, walking into Lam even though they weren't open for another ten minutes. She was on her way into work as well if her outfit was anything to go by. She had on a skintight wine-colored dress with fishnets and knee-high six-inch heels. Her long black hair was free, as it almost always was, and her eye makeup was on the dramatic side and her lips matched her dress.