Femme Fetale

Five

"After you, babe," Grant grins widely, laughing at me slightly. I glare at him but walk through the door nonetheless.  I swipe my keycard and we enter further into my apartment building.

"Shut up, I had to at least act somewhat civil towards you," I sniff. Once inside, I press the button to the elevator, then tap my heel impatiently.

"Don't worry, babe I understand." I pull back and punch his arm. He laughs, but rubs the spot where I punched him. "You know girls only hit the guys they like." He shoots me a wink, and I roll my eyes. The elevator dings and we step inside. I press the number to my floor and watch as the doors close, leaning on the side of the elevator. My eyes suddenly widen, realising something.

"Hey, hey, hey, what do you think your doing," I say, turning on Grant. He looks at me innocently, frowning slightly. For a supposed trained killer, I can be pretty oblivious.

"What."

"Why are you following me to my apartment. You have your own," I scowl, frowning at him. He chuckles, rubbing his neck.

"That's the thing, I don't. Mind if I crash at your place while I look for my own?"

"Hold up," I say, holding up my hand as the elevator dings and the doors open again. I step out and Grant follows. "What do you mean you don't? Where were you staying before this mission then?"

"See, there was this house, and the owners were off in Hawaii for the fall or something, so I was crashing there for a while, but now they're back and I need somewhere to crash," He pouts, trying to gain my pity. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Aren't your rich or something. Go stay in a hotel," I turn on my heel and make for the end of the hall. To my dismay and agitation, Grant follows cheerily, hands in his suit pockets. I look back at him. "I said go stay at a hotel."

"Hotels give me hives," He shrugs, hands still in his pockets. I narrow my eyes at him. "They can't possibly be as clean as we think they are. Have you ever even watched 'Hotel Hell'? Do you know how many people go in and out of those rooms on the daily?" He wrinkles his nose. "It's just for a day or two till I find an apartment," He pleads, looking down at me. I huff. "It'll be like I'm not even there."

"I doubt it, considering you talk so much," I mutter more to myself. "Fine, but I don't have any pyjamas for you." I tell him, eyeing his attire. Unlocking the door and pushing it open, I glance back at Grant.

"Oh, that's fine, I sleep in my boxers," Grant tells me, walking inside before I can protest any more.

Somehow, he finds his way straight to the guest bedroom, and I hear the door close. Humming can be heard from inside for a few minutes and I stand there, wondering how he managed to memorise the layout of my home. Then the door opens and a barley dressed Grant steps out. I stare at him, dumbfounded by this guy's boldness.

"Where are the towels," He says simply. For a second I've lost my voice, and I see the twinkle of amusement return to Grant's green eyes.

"In the closet, top shelf." I snap at him, narrowing my eyes and turning away. "Put some clothes on, you whore." I yell at him, and I hear his barking laugh as the door shuts again.

I slip into my own room and change into a comfortable fleece jumpsuit with cat ears. I tuck my phone into my pocket. Not like I had anyone to speak to, but just incase a client decides to come through.

Then I turn towards it. The mahogany wardrobe seems to leer at me, daring me to touch it. To open it. I sigh, shutting my eyes and try to remove the emotional attachment. I just need to open it, grab a random shirt and pants and leave it be. I don't need to smell his scent, or look at his clothes. The memories don't need to resurface. I take a deep breath and open my eyes again. It's still there. Somehow I'd wished it had disappeared. But unlike it's owner, it's ever present, waiting for the day I finally am able to move on and clear it out. Sell it, or throw it to the trash, or donate it. I know it's been three years, and he's probably moved on long ago, but the wound still hurts.