I bathed for an hour and considered all of the things I needed to do. Running out on Michael was only the first step, modeling for Hex the second. After I washed, I gazed into the mirror.

“Change who you are,” Hex had said.

I opened the medicine cabinet, searched for scissors, and found a sharp pair. “Okay, Hex. I told you I would follow you down the rabbit hole. I hope you’re not mad about my hair.”

I snipped for a good hour. Half way into cutting I realized I should have gone to an actual beautician. Once my strands had run well past my behind, now they barely touched my shoulders and were unevenly layered in the back. It looked almost like I’d meant it to be cut that way, almost hip, or maybe I was just telling myself that.

Now what? Maybe I should figure out if I even want to be a model or do something else.

I could either decide to keep modeling or find some new career that made me content. After that I held no other plans in my head. I just yearned to be happy like everybody else.

One book I’d read insisted that in order for people to be truly happy they should go after their dreams. The test was simple. Person A made wooden trains for a living and enjoyed doing it. Was he living his dream? Was he truly happy? One day person A woke up and discovered he’d won the lottery. Person A was now a millionaire. Would he still make the wooden trains or kick those scraps away and do something else? If he would still sit down and make the trains, then he was living his dream.

Would I still model if I didn’t need the money?

I wasn’t so sure. I enjoyed art, but loved movies more. I appreciated the fact that I could make a living off sitting on my behind while others created around me, but didn’t see myself ever longing to do it for years to come.

So what do I want to do? Something with movies, maybe? What does that even mean, something with movies? I can’t act or direct.

I spent the next hour researching jobs on my phone. I browsed most that dealt with the movie industry. The only occupation that sent thrills through my body was movie critic. I don’t know. It was one of the hardest occupations to get into, at least to make a living off it. Additionally, no college solely dedicated their academics to film criticism, but on the other hand, there were many colleges that provided film studies. College? Could I go to college? I’d never been. In fact, I hadn’t been inside of a classroom in ten years. The very idea of dealing with math problems scared me.

I would probably be the oldest person there, that weirdo old girl in all the college movies, serving as the butt of every joke in comedies and the person who usually died first in the horrors.

I was twenty-nine years old with no sure path I wanted to take. Didn’t people know what they wanted in life by now? Had all those years with Michael, nurturing his career and dreams, sucked away my only opportunity for finding what I love?

Someone knocked on the door. “Elle?”

“Alvarez?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded low and sad.

“Is everything okay?” I put my phone down, jumped from my bed, and opened the door.

Alvarez tilted his head forward so I couldn’t see his eyes. The darkness of the hallway shielded half of his face. His crumpled shirt hung open at the top and he held a bottle of opened wine in his hand. My guards gave him a large amount of space, as if to not aggravate him.

“It seems that every time I run to you, I’m sinking in a pit of poisonous stew and drowning.” The stink of alcohol drifted my way with each word. “One day I want to come to you in a happy mood.”

“Why are you so down?”

“My investigator discovered who the killer was and. . .” He took a swig from the bottle. “Both of the people are close to me.”

“Oh my god.” I embraced him. “Who were the people?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He studied me for a minute. “Damn, you’re beautiful without all of that hair in the way. Who cut it for you?”

“I did.”

“I didn’t know you could do hair.”

“Me neither.” I paused for a few seconds. “Who were the two people involved?”

He wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned his head on my shoulder. “Do you feel like going somewhere with me? Anywhere? I just have to get off this property for a while. I can have a car take us wherever you want to go.”

How could I say no? He slumped his shoulders forward and rested most of his weight on me. The guards exchanged worried glances with each other. Alvarez was in a low place. If I was in his position, he would do all he could to take care of me. That was just the type of guy he was.

Tags: Kenya Wright Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net