“You went where?”
“Los Cabos.” I yawned, “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep off my jet lag.”
“Kat, you don’t get jet lag in one day.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Whatever. I’m still exhausted, Bea.”
“Tell me everything! You owe it to me, after not calling!”
“He named a yacht after me, we went sailing, raced cars and then spent the night dancing. Happy?”
Bea gasped in surprise.
“He named a yacht after you? A yacht? Holy-”
“-yeah, it’s crazy. I can’t believe it either. Now, if you don’t mind.”
“If you hang up on me your life is over, Kat.” She said, “I want a full report. I have to recalculate your percentages.”
I groaned and started my explanation, leaving out some bits that I didn’t feel up to retelling. Don’t get me wrong, I was close to Bea, but there were some things I wanted to stay between me and Raphael.
Plus, I really didn’t want to go deaf with the squeals she was undoubtedly going to let out straight into the phone. As soon as she had deemed my response satisfactory I fell back onto my bed, sighing.
She had proclaimed happily that we were now at 99.9%. I didn’t know what to think of that.
Raphael always left me confused. On one hand I wanted to insult him and on the other I felt as if I was walking on clouds when I was around him. I was just as tempted to punch him as I was to kiss him.
Stupid feelings. Life had been so easy when all I did was work, sleep and eat, and all I worried about was paying the bills. Now I was worried about what I had with Raphael, what I felt and what he might expect of me. I still felt guilty for letting him spend money on me, but there was only so much I could do about it.
Actually...I had just paid off the hospital bills, and I had been putting away some extra money from my time at Frisco's in a bank account. Maybe, eventually, I would be able to pay him back anyways.
In fifty years, maybe.
I didn’t like depending on other people. It felt wrong, and if there was one thing my father had taught me, it was to take care of yourself. And to never enter a house when you heard plates crashing inside.
I touched a scar on my arm absentmindedly, remembering the sharp cut of glass and the dull pain of being thrown against the wall. Of having to peel myself off the floor and pick up my pieces, to go to school or work.
No, I decided, I would not depend on anyone. If Raphael spent money on me it was his choice, and as long as I hadn’t signed any papers I wasn’t bound to any kind of agreement. I would try to discourage him, but in the end I wouldn’t bother fighting on the topic. I could tell he wouldn’t accept my money anyways.