<span style="color: #FF80FF"> <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><div style="text-align: center;">Lea Stevens</div></span></span> </span><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn24/SociallyToxicBeauty/036e0d3a-b28c-47ec-b858-0eaea6c67e4d.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #FF80FF"><div style="text-align: center;">"Jazz"</div></span></span></span><br/><br/>Lea noticed Carlos’ mood had seemed to deflate and he avoided looking at her. Eventually he had stood as she put on her shoes, his keys in hand at the door.<span style="font-style: italic">“Dino’s? Or would that be too many memories for you today?”</span>he asked. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she still visited the little Italian café, mostly to punish herself. She had gone every week since her release from duty. She did it to remind herself of what she had lost—Carlos.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF80FF"> “That’s fine with me…”</span>she replied, following him out the door as she grabbed her jacket from the coat rack. Outside was still frigid and puffs of white appeared in front of her as she breathed. Again she almost slipped on the ice, but managed to catch herself. She was pretty sure that she slipped on the same patch of ice every time she left her apartment.<span style="color: #FF80FF"> “Fucking hate this place,”</span>she muttered under her breath as she stuff her hands in her pockets.<br/><br/>Carlos opened the car door for her and she slid in, Carlos walking around to get in on the driver’s side. She gave a sigh as they began to drive down the road,<span style="color: #FF80FF"> “Why are you upset?”</span>she asked finally. It was obvious to her that Carlos was upset about something, that something she had done hurt him—but she couldn’t figure out what. She had decided not to go to work just like he asked and she begrudgingly accepted his assistance in paying back money that she owed, what could possibly be wrong?<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF80FF"> “You’re not very good at hiding your emotions—and it doesn’t feel too good when I know you are purposefully not looking at me. It’s as if you are disgusted by just looking at me…and maybe that’s true, but it still doesn’t feel too great…”</span>her voice was soft and she was looking directly at him with her glossy green eyes.