“Cleanin’ up after a dead body?” I didn’t laugh. Didn’t respond at all. A few years ago, I would’ve bantered with her, charmed her. Not now. It all felt like a waste of time and energy. Neither of which I had. The clerk’s cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head, hitting keys on her register. I was an asshole. But an asshole was better than the alternative. Better than caring. About anything or anyone. Caring was a recipe for nothing but agony.
