The Hit List

Chapter 10

For once in my life, I felt I would be in control. that this would not turn into a sympathy fest. It would be much too late before my loved ones realized I was gone. "It's not a crime to want to kill yourself" I spoke quietly, my thumb now toying with the bandage. A patch of scarlet marries the tone of nudity.

This was supposed to be my territory. An easy acceptance on both sides. He doesn't know who I am. How I landed where I am now. He has an idea of the bare minimum, not that I used to scream at my mother until my voice was sore. The sound of my cruel remarks overpowering her plea for me to get better.

A glance at my watch tells me that it is close to 10. The sound of his breathing attempts to draw my attention back to him. He's a mere 5 feet away from me. Too close I was kidding myself thinking I could stand to be in the same room as this being. Not while the sun peeks through my blinds.

His shirt appears to be bunching up in a few places and may use an iron. At this moment, I feel like a voyeur watching him, his eyes probing my wall for something my eyes are unable to perceive. I yearned for the comforting buzz of booze in my body to help me escape this strange world.

I can just see a tiny dot of skin showing below a tiny hole in his shirt's shoulder. He moves, tracing his finger around the opening while his gaze follows mine. The fact that I saw a weakness in him was upsetting to him.

A flaw that he could've controlled if he had just been more careful. The tear never should've opened in the first place. His shirt should be whole.

I contemplate what I'll do when he leaves. If he decides to leave with me alive. My mind was full of questions, and answers were like troops in a war, just waiting to be found. Soldiers who, right now, tremble like Hitch. Their veins throb with the urge for strength, yet humanity pulses their hearts too fast.

It's clear from the moment he stiffens that something's changed. He'd appeared so relaxed in the beginning, in control of things that appeared impossible to have a hold over. My gaze flicks to his face, his complexion ashen under the kitchen lights. He freezes, his eyes looking into mine once more. As though I had caught a moment that few people had seen before.

I watch as his hand burrows into his pocket, wrapping around something hidden. He touches it like it's an antidote to him, running his thumb carefully across it. It takes no time at all for him to move his eyes from mine, scanning the room that surrounds us. I'd swear it was decorated with fine art by the way his eyes focused on every individual piece.

"How long have you felt this way?" He asked carefully, his pupils settling on a picture that's been on the wall since I first rented the apartment. A painting of a building done by the landlord's mother that I felt no need to take down.

I can't help but stare at him, even if my head tells me to turn away. 

As though he were an eclipse, so rare but so painful. I am a speck to him, insignificant, yet I continue to stare. I don't want to miss what he transforms into next. The muscles in his jaw work, clenching his back teeth together. The answer to his question is complicated. He asked it to trick me. To show how I have managed to ease my way from gifted to failure in a matter of years.

At last, his gaze returns to me, seeking an answer that my lips will not utter. He feels a chill go through him and reaches out of his pocket to pull his sleeves down. Somehow, the words we don't say to one other are louder than any amount of screaming. "You went to the doctor for a blood test when you were 8. It came back negative. Is that when it started? The pressure got too much for you. Parents wanted something physical to pin it on."

I heard the words but was unable to comprehend them. "Are you cold?" My voice sounded flat, a dull ring in the quiet. My hand pressed to my sweater, rubbing along the fabric.