** Claire and I keep our new designated spots. It wouldn't make sense to switch again, although I want to. Sebastian and I maintain our distance, knees tilted in opposite directions, elbows below the table, heads turned away from each other. Sebastian is visibly upset from Claire's blessings; he drinks his wine slowly, savoring the flavors as if it's the only cup he'll get to enjoy, to avoid having to acknowledge her presence across from him. Food is passed around like an assembly line. I watch the two different platters of macaroni and cheese in rotation. I know which one is mine—cream-tinted glass dish, sunflowers lining the sides, the color of the flowers fading from constant wash and use. Claire's is green—seafoam green. It looks brand new, bought for the oc

Sebastian takes me back to my office after our comforting, reassuring embrace, though my nerves are less than soothed.Thoughts are running through my mind like a marathon, mostly concerning how Sebastian claims he's going to fix "this," as if we know what "this" is. If he's talking about dealing with his father, then I'm curious to know how he plans to handle that. But the tone of his voice made it seem like he was talking about something else—something more.We agree to keep everything the way it is, meaning staying complacent, doing our jobs, showing the world that we're happy in the situation we're in. 22 days—that's what I tell myself. But after that, then what? Will it be so simple for he and I to just be together? We could never "be" anything with the entire world constantly watching Sebastian and criticizing hi

**It's a simple question I have to ask, which should prompt a simple answer. As I hold the camera between the empty space between myself and the three of them across from me, I know I have to ask this simple question—Did you put this camera in my office? And after this question, Sebastian should answer with a yes or a no. But this doesn't happen immediately. I continue to hold the small, cracked camera between us and wait. I don't know what I'm waiting for—myself, or for them, who knows. I look into Sebastian's eyes and pray I find someone else in them. Someone who wouldn't do this to me, jeopardizing my career and my privacy with this small model of surveillance. I want to believe he didn't—he wouldn't. "I found this camera in my office last week," I tell t

** December 23rd, 10:23 PM SEBASTIAN It amazes me, how I continuously seem to fuck up the moment I think I'm doing something right. Leslie just left me. Well, not in that sense—we weren't' together in that way, even though we were only one step away from getting to that point. No, she left me, here in Salvador's library because I lied to her. Well, I lied to her, then yelled at her and told her that Alejandro was playing her in a room of her colleagues; her own assistant (who was fucking Claude behind our backs. I should have known—that bastard, him). I shouldn't have yelled, but the moment my mouth opened, the words wouldn't stop. They just kept flowing out of me; she's such a pain i

** I let the water from my shower run over my body hot, rinsing tonight away. But as badly as I want tonight to wash down the drain, all I see pink from the blood on my hands. The truth left Isaac's mouth, and the first thing I did was excuse myself for a shower. Of course, Isaac didn't oppose. He sat there as I slowly got up, went to the bathroom, turned on the faucet and stepped into the hot water. And now, I just stand in it. I stand in it, letting the memories connect with the truth I've been given. Luís Mateo Velasquez. Assassin. Drug Cartel. It doesn't seem real. That, or I'm ashamed, shocked, afraid that I slept with a man like Alejandro—Luís. Not only did I sleep with him, but I dated him. Thought I might have loved him. He lied to me twice. No telling how many