Lola’s last words came out as Caleb pulled into his assigned spot in the parking garage, and he sighed as he gripped the wheel. “Maybe…” he hesitated momentarily. He was being too soft. “Maybe after the funeral tomorrow we can grab some of your shit if you want.” Wincing at his words, he turned off the engine and got out of the truck. “I’m gonna talk to my boss tomorrow. See how he wants me to handle all of this shit. All of my ideas either end in you dead or my permanent roommate, and I’m guessing you don’t want either,” he laughed. 

Upon entering the apartment, he locked the door behind him and signaled for Lola to follow him to the bathroom so that he could find something to take for the pain. He leaned against the counter so his back was to the mirror and began looking in the cabinet that was affixed to the wall on his right, squinting his eyes so he could focus on the small letters.

“Vicodin. A year expired. Cough syrup, no. Hmm,” his fingers moved around pill bottles and other items until he located the one he was looking for. “Xanax? Would that work?” 

He took it out and placed it on the counter and rubbed his face with both of his hands. “Are you doing okay? I mean, as good as you can be?” He removed the hands from his face and looked at her. “I’m sorry you got sucked into this.”

Why was he feeling so guilty? All the years he spent engaging in illegal activity, he thought, had numbed him to such useless emotions. Now, he was sitting here in the bathroom with a young woman, more concerned with how she was holding up as opposed to the fact that her knowledge alone could send him away for years. 

It was a dangerous emotion, and hopefully it was just the blow to his head making him feel such a weakness.