The Hit List

Chapter 17

I was tapping my fingers nervously on the table. Two margaritas downed was a mistake. An even bigger one was not pausing in between. All I wanted was to experience that pleasurable sensation again. I ran my finger along the brim of the third, the salt coating the tip. "You sure you don't want one?" I pushed it towards him, watching his eyes squint at the hazmat-yellow liquid.

He shook his head, taking a sip from his water glass. "I gotta drive, remember?" He dipped a chip into the red salsa, holding his hand underneath as he brought it to his mouth.

"How long have you wanted to bungee jump?" I dipped a chip in guacamole, watching as it broke in half.

He took another sip of water, the liquid falling down his throat silently. "A little under two months. It wasn't something I had my mind on. Other things took precedence."

I'm uncomfortable.

I know he can tell I'm uncomfortable because he watches my hands as they shakily grasp my abnormally large glass.

"So I'm going next, is that how this works?"

"That's the plan." He looks over the menu, scrunching his face at all of the items.

It was the only restaurant we could find in miles. The parking lot is full of various types of vehicles. The patrons are just as unique.

We blend in like flowers on cheap wallpaper. Just two individuals sharing a basket of dry chips.

The picture of normalcy. The silence is neither scathing nor peaceful.

It's more of a regularity between us. Something that has become a part of our strange relationship.

I'm still not sure this is even real. I might be wandering lost in some strange neighboring dimension.

A maze I can't find the exit to. Something I shouldn't have entered in the first place.

"I left the list on the counter. Did you look at it?" I sprinkled some salt onto the chips, hoping to make them more appetizing on my tongue.

A video plays in my mind as I wait for his response. My eyes rested on his lips, begging for them to move. I know they have to eventually, I just don't know how long I can wait.

"I felt like I was back in school again. Like I was assigned homework."

He nods. "Sorry if that traumatized you. I know how terrible schoolyard memories can be."

I feel tired and miserable. I send up a silent prayer of thanks that the day is almost done. For now, I pick at my nails, watching the red polish flake off. 

Despite the fearful thoughts that visit me at night, I crave them. The thoughts that burn in my brain, leaving crisp singe marks in their wake.

I don't want to talk. But the silence is taunting now. Even with a heavy rock song playing loudly through the restaurant's speakers.

In this moment of weary resignation, I realize that even the loudest of distractions cannot drown out the deafening silence that reverberates within.

I was taught that words were always better than silence. That while I didn't want to speak, it didn't supersede another's want to hear. Eventually, the river would flow once more, and eventually, it would dry all over again. A cycle that has repeated ever since I was young. A fight between what was worse to give someone, screaming or neverending quiet.

The fact that he hasn't taken his eyes off of me isn't lost. I find myself watching him just as carefully. Later when I am alone I will still feel his gaze burning through my skin.