Page 6 of Beautiful Broken Vengeance
Watching him, I hated that I understood the blushing reporter. Up close he wasn’t simply beautiful, he was stunning. I knew he was thirty-eight only he didn’t look it. Even though his wide, heavy brow was filled with lines I wouldn’t have guessed he was that old. His jaw was square with carved cheekbones as sharp as his nose. The oddest longing to touch him to confirm he was real grew until I almost did.
Something drew me to him that I couldn’t understand. He was the flame—big, hot, enticing. I became a stupid, brainless moth that needed to get closer to him. Then a man appeared between us, freeing me from my stupor.
Hate flared through me. I hadn’t been able to keep my mouth shut. I wanted him scared, aware I was coming after him.
Only I hadn’t scared him at all, not in the slightest. I’d been the one who nearly passed out in fear when his guard stuck a gun in my face. Had he seen the fear? His golden eyes hadn’t even flickered while putting his hand on his man’s arm and pushing it down. He stared at me as if he was trying to figure me out.
It wasn’t me he wanted to figure out, it was the reason why I was there. He didn’t see me as a threat and that infuriated me even more.
Then I screwed up all over again: I hadn’t seen the man following me. I only realized it by complete chance—catching sight of him in the reflection of a window. Thank fuck it was more than a mile from where I lived but damn it, I can’t believe I nearly ruined everything.
I’m going to need to learn patience. And it starts with going clothes shopping. I shudder. I don’t shop. I buy my clothes online in twos, sometimes threes if I find something I really like, usually consisting of T-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants. Since I don’t leave the house it didn’t matter to me what I wore.
While I’m not looking forward to going into the FBI office every day, it will be worth it if it means a way to destroy the Levins. I’m also not going to do it for long. Once I’ve had my revenge I’ll give it a week or two, then tell John that I changed my mind and it wasn’t for me. He’ll be relieved when I tell him I’ll still do whatever they call me for and that will be the end of it.
Over the last two weeks going to check out Milos and Aleksander, I tried to go during the quieter parts of the day. It hadn’t helped, especially since their condo in the Hancock building was on Michigan Avenue—one of the busiest streets in all of Chicago. The quickest way home was the El but I didn’t dare take it, it wasn’t safe. I stuck to the bus and did my best to tune people out. A shudder runs through me as I consider what I’ve signed myself up for, going out every single day during the busiest times of the day.
Fuck.
I take a deep breath. No whining, this is for Ray.
Starting with clothes. I do a search because I’m too fat to go shopping just anywhere. I sigh as I wonder what size I am now. I did exactly what the therapist feared I would, I put on weight to hide. Up until I was almost raped in the high school bathroom by a group of boys who found out what happened to me, I was still a normal weight for my height, although by the time I turned fourteen my breasts entered a room before I did. After the attack I put on almost thirty pounds in less than six months.
Ray got upset and stressed it was important I lose weight for my health. I managed to lose more than twenty pounds. However, when Ray went missing I fell into depression. I gained back the twenty pounds I lost and another twenty on top of that.
The last time I tried to buy clothes I was sent to what the sales associate called the fat woman’s store. When she saw the hurt on my face she apologized, it didn’t help. I felt so ashamed, I didn’t bother going to the store. Instead I went home and ordered sweatpants online. I’ve never gone shopping since.
I do a search for the fat woman’s store the lady directed me to. It didn’t matter it’s been years since it happened I never forgot a word she said. It’s not far, but for fuck’s sake it closes in only three hours. I need a shower and I can’t remember when I washed my hair last—dry shampoo is my best friend. While I take a shower daily, dealing with my hair is a pain in the ass. Ray loved my long hair so I’ve never cut it.
After shampooing my hair twice, I decide to let the conditioner sit on it for a while before rinsing it out. It takes forever to dry my hair. As soon as it’s dry I put it up into a bun.
Done, I consider my clothes. There isn’t much to choose from. I decide to go with a plain black shirt beneath a black hoodie and black sweatpants.
Then I grab my phone that has a wallet in the phone case. Out on the street a cab slows after dropping off a fare a few houses down. The driver is a woman, when she asks if I need a ride, I get in with relief—it’s rare for a cabbie to be a woman. Fifteen minutes later, she drops me off in front of the outdoor mall.
I take a deep breath then open the door. The store is relatively empty, only two women walking around shopping and a woman at the register checking out a customer. Scanning the store I find the work clothes.
“Hi, I’m Kashvi. Can I help you find anything?” A petite woman who might be my age or a few years older is in front of me. I’m immediately envious of how confidently she wears tight black jeans and an even tighter red long-sleeved top with cut-outs at her shoulders and between her breasts, even though she’s probably heavier than me. Her smile is kind, her brown eyes soft.
I’m embarrassed I need help but if I don’t ask for it, I’ll be in here forever. “I need clothes for work but, um, I don’t know my size. I haven’t shopped in forever. I’m supposed to buy suits.”
Confusion is in her eyes as they run over me. “Okay…” Even though it’s clear she wants to ask me something, she looks to the rack of dress pants instead. “I’m going to guess you’re a size eighteen or twenty in bottoms and probably a twenty, twenty-two on top. We don’t have suits which is a good thing when the tops and bottoms are different sizes. We do have dress pants and several different blazers you can wear. Let’s confirm your sizes first. I’m going to go with average on pants for height. Is there a particular cut you’re looking for? Like boot cut or straight?”
I shrug, trying to hide my own confusion. “I need to look as professional as possible.”
“In that case let’s go with straight leg. These have plenty of give. Follow me. I’ll get you a changing room started. While you’re trying on the pants I’m going to grab a few blouses I think will work.” She unlocks a large changing room and hangs up the pants for me. “Give those a try and keep on the ones that work so you can see how they look with the blouses.”
Inside the changing room, it takes a minute to work up the nerve to undress. I turn away from the mirror when I remove the hoodie then take off the sweatpants. I have to kick off my Vans as the pants won’t go over them. I’m relieved when the size eighteen pants fit. They’re not even super snug, they fit almost perfectly. I just wish the hem was an inch shorter.
There’s a knock on the door. “Hello? Are you good for me to give you some blouses?”
I open the door. “These fit.”
She nods. “Those look good. What size?”
“The eighteen.”
“Okay, do you want me to grab you some skirts—”
