Chapter 7

By the time the red convertible rolled to a stop next to her, Courtney was still staring fixedly in the direction the "stranger" had gone. In her hands she fingered the little paper he'd left, flattening it, smoothing out the creases without thinking. She couldn't quite bring herself to read it; subconsciously, she hoped if she waited long enough he might come back to do it for her.

The sharp blaring of a car horn brought her back to reality.

Courtney jerked her head to face the car she had not yet noticed, stealthily slipping the note into the waist of her jeans. The paper was smooth against her skin. She was confused at first; she didn't recognize the vehicle, and she wasn't doing anything to warrant the attention.

But then, the driver spoke, and the blood began burning in her veins.

"Hola, mi amor. Looking beautiful as ever, I see."

Courtney made no attempt to hide her scowl. "Alejandro." It was impressive how much venom was contained in that single word, though Alejandro acted unfazed. "What do you want?"

The charming Latino made a face and placed his hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "Ay, chica! Your tone makes it sound as if you don't want me here. But," he continued, frown melting to reveal a sly smile, "I know that cannot be true. You have missed me."

In that moment, his smirk eerily resembled that of another man with whom Courtney had been conversing minutes earlier. The crookedness, the pressed lips, the lowered brow, the innate arrogance—all there. Not quite the same, but strikingly similar. Upon further pondering later on, Courtney decided the difference was in the eyes. Alejandro's green were dark and conniving compared to the bright, smoldering gaze that he had turned on her.

"How could I miss such a lying, backstabbing, manipulative snake?" A vicious snarl had curled the corners of Courtney's mouth, and she spoke in a dangerous hiss. "Why should I want to see someone who's stabbed me in the back more times than I can count? I'm sure Heather wasn't the first." Her lips twisted wryly, dark eyes flashing. "How many others were there, Al? Three? Seven? Fifteen?"

Apart from an occasional eye twitch, Alejandro appeared to remain composed. However, Courtney could see his facade faltering with each accusation she threw. His control was slipping, and his knuckles were white where he clenched the window frame a little too tight.

"Chica," he implored placatingly, "You don't know what you're talking about. Heather was...a mistake. A one-time mishap! There was no one else, I promise." He attempted one last charming grin. A lesser woman would have easily fallen for it. "You believe me, don't you?"

Looking at him in disgust, Courtney snorted, turning around. "Go to hell."

She heard the car door open and slam loudly behind her as she walked away, heard his hysterical yells following her as he stormed onto the pavement. The limited patience he had had been worn to naught.

"What did you say, puta? You have no right to speak to me like that!" His voice came closer. Courtney could tell he was angry, but her pride kept her from glancing back. Besides, it pleased her to know she was the one to make him lose his head. "Answer me!" Suddenly, Alejandro's hand closed on her wrist. Now it was her turn to get pissed. She whipped around to face him.

"You heard me!" She nearly spat the words in his face, not paying any mind to his temper. Her own was far worse. "I told you to go to hell, right where you belong!"

Courtney saw the slap as it came. Immediately, she ducked down to avoid it, kicking him in the groin and watching in satisfaction as he released her and sunk to his knees with a cry. Perhaps it was a bit sadistic, but Courtney felt there was something rather enjoyable about causing him physical pain. It was probably just because Alejandro deserved it.

The brunette stalked away with her head held high. This time, she experienced no interruptions.

Courtney turned the door handle carefully as she stepped inside and shut the door silently behind her. When she had arrived at the driveway of her home, she had been immensely relieved to find her mother's car missing, only to notice her father's was in its place.

This was a surprise to her; she had assumed her dad was off on some business trip or other, seeing as she hadn't seen him in almost two full days. Not that they were particularly close anyway. He was gone more than her mother was.

The lights were on, but her father was nowhere in sight, probably working in his office. The girl let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It wasn't that she disliked her father; on the contrary, she much preferred him over her mother. However, he was a very quiet man and talked little. It was sometimes awkward being in the same room with him, especially when he was occupied with his work.

Courtney usually found it easier to just avoid interaction altogether.

The door to the kitchen was already open, so this time she didn't have to go through the painstaking process of opening it without making any sound. Removing her shoes in the living room foyer, she simply slipped through, grabbed an apple from the pantry, and pulled out a chair at the table. A crinkling noise came from her waistband as she sat. Oh, right.

The note. Courtney couldn't believe she'd forgotten. After only slight hesitation, she withdrew the small, creased square and unfolded it. Her eyes widened.

Staring back at her was a sketch of a face, drawn and shaded with obvious care in grey pencil. It took less than a second for Courtney to figure it was her own. In truth, it was a quite good representation of her likeness, from the curve of her full lips to the seven freckles above her nose.

Courtney knew instantaneously he had drawn it—Who else?—and while the obsessive precision with which he'd done so should have creeped her out, she felt nothing more than awe. How much time had he spent working on it, finishing it, perfecting it? How long had he studied her face to be able to recreate it so faithfully? She wondered briefly when he had gotten such a close look, but the alarming thought was swiftly brushed away. It was harmless. So long as he was just watching, it wouldn't really hurt her.

As if on cue, a prickling sensation suddenly surfaced along her neck and Courtney snapped her head to the window. She couldn't see him with the darkening sky, but she was almost certain he was watching to see her reaction. In fact, he'd probably been watching all along, or at least most of the time, ever since he'd "left" earlier that day.

Contemplating that thought didn't scare her as much as it should. On the contrary, Courtney found it rather comforting, in a strange sort of way, to know he was looking out for her, however unorthodox his methods were. A smile appeared on her face faster than she could suppress it.

Courtney cursed herself for being such a romantic.

At that moment, a creaking from behind alerted her to the opening of the kitchen door. The girl started, automatically setting her hands in her lap and sitting up straighter in her chair. Standing there in the doorway was her father, in all his silent, intimidating glory. He looked at her for a moment as if analyzing what he saw. His gaze soon rested on the paper clasped against her thigh.

"What is that?" Though he spoke quietly, the deep baritone of his voice seemed to resonate off the tile floor. Courtney purposely looked him in the eye and tried to ignore how her stomach leaped in her throat when she replied.

"Nothing. Just a picture." Reassuringly, she added, "It's not mine." She didn't want her father thinking she was wasting her time on something as frivolous as drawing. It was true, too. Courtney couldn't remember the last time she had drawn anything for entertainment.

Her father inclined his head in slight acknowledgement as he held out one massive hand towards her.

"May I see it." He said it as a statement, not a question, and Courtney passed it over without a second thought. For several long seconds, in his usual thorough way, the man examined the portrait. He didn't offer it back when he was done. Instead, he chose to stare critically, penetratingly, at his daughter until Courtney felt a strong urge to curl up into a ball and hide. Though, of course, her pride would never allow that. She pulled her shoulders back ever so slightly and said nothing.

Her father eventually turned his gaze back to the picture. When he spoke, he sounded almost...thoughtful. Nostalgic was not the appropriate word. "It is very well done; a near exact recreation." With a hint of interest, he inquired, "Who drew it?"

Courtney was taken aback, not being prepared with an answer. She couldn't tell the truth; even if she did know the strange young man's name, she couldn't explain her relationship to him. She stuttered momentarily as she thought up a reply. "Oh, uh, that was Bridgette." The man raised a brow at her hesitation, so she elaborated to seem more convincing. "We met for coffee today and she asked if she could draw me. For practice, for her art class."

There was a deafening lull. "Interesting." Mr. Mann clearly didn't believe her, but he wasn't the type to pry. The paper went into his pants' pocket. "Well, good night." Business done, he retreated towards his study.

"Good night." The door fell shut with a thud. Once more, Courtney was left sitting in her chair, alone, with not even the drawing to distract her from solitude. She finally remembered the apple on the table in front of her. Grabbing at it greedily and taking one bite, then another, the fruit soon disappeared, save for the stem; but the empty feeling in her abdomen had not lessened.

Courtney knew it wasn't just hunger.

A/N:

Thanks for reading! Please review if you liked it, or even if you didn't, tell me what to improve. :)

-Scraps

(BTW, I will likely be editing this and earlier chapters of this story at some point in the future, so watch out for those updates too.)