Blackbird by Abigail Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

thirty.”
    “You should be home by now. Your kids.”
    She looks genuinely confused. I can see the response even if she’s terrified to say it. What do you care?
    “Have you eaten?”
    Alicia eyes me. “No, I haven’t.”
    “Want something?”
    She looks at me like I just sprouted a second head.
    “I…” she looks around, and actually hugs herself.
    “I could stay for a minute,” she says, quickly.
    She moves to the fridge, but I shoo her away. I put the sandwich I was fixing myself in front of her and make my own, sit down at the table and take a small bite. I don’t make very good sandwiches. I probably should   have put some mayonnaise on the bread or something, but I can’t find it.
    “Are you alright?”
    Her question startles me. Her reaction is instantaneous. Her mouth clicks shut and she looks down.
    “No. I’m not.”
    “You were upset this afternoon.”
    “Yes.”
    “Not about the meeting.”
    “No. Not about the meeting.”
    She takes a bite, chews it slowly and swallows without looking up.
    “Old flame,” she says. It’s not a question.
    “Yes.”
    “Okay.”
    I look at her.
    “I’m not going to say anything else. I heard you fired an assistant for touching your shoulder when you fell asleep on the plane.”
    “Yes. I did. They all hate me, don’t they?”
    Her sandwich is shaking. Her hands are, too.
    “You can answer me. I asked you the question, so I must want the answer.”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you?”
    “Sometimes. Please. I have three kids.”
    “I know. You’re not fired. I’d offer to wrap that up so you can take it home but I don’t know where the cook keep things to wrap up food.”
    “Thanks. I’m not really hungry. Can I go?”
    “Yes. Come in at nine tomorrow. I’m sleeping in.”
    “Your father-“
    I touch my cheek gingerly, and wince. “I’ll deal with him. I’m sleeping in. So should you.”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    She rises, and most of the sandwich goes in the garbage. As she’s leaving, I sigh.
    “Alicia.”
    “Yes?”
    “For what’s worth, I don’t hate you. ”
    A little while later I add, “I just hate myself,” but by then I’m alone again.

Chapter Five

    Victor

    Fuck fuck fuck, fuck me sideways with a blowtorch.
    First thing I do is push past some asshole in a paisley tie (really?) and into the men’s room. I shoulder my way into a toilet stall. I don’t want to touch anything. Then I slip my fingers in my mouth. I can still taste her on my fingers. The stall rattles when I slam my fist into the wall. My hand comes away bloody, a spider-web crack in the tile. Shit.
    Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit .
    She did not say ‘don’t leave me’. That was just my imagination. I’m sure of it.
    I walk out of the bathroom with a bloodied hand and paisley tie man is waiting for me. He gives my hand a look and I realize I’m being sized up.
    Look, I don’t pretend to be the hardest hardass that was ever hard, but you learn things in prison. Rule number one, is don’t go around sizing people up. Paisley tie man, besides having atrocious taste, is ex military. Still wears a crew-cut and lifts three times a week. He commutes into the city and has a room full of gun parts and Army manuals he bought from a surplus catalog, stuff about close combat techniques and booby traps. I can see all that written on his face, somehow.
    You get good at reading faces in jail.
    “Hey,” he snaps at me.
    This guy pilots a desk at the biscuit factory headquarters. I’m not in the fucking mood. I walk past him to the sink and wash my hands. I’ve got my blood from the broken tile on my right and Eve’s pussy juice on my left. The water goes down the sink pink. The paper towel sticks to my hand. I like this bathroom, it reminds me of a casino. It would be a terrible shame if one of those nice porcelain urinals was cracked in half by this asshole’s head. The probability of that is rising by the second.
    I pull the paper towel away. A few little nicks, nothing