Licensed Murder

[ 1 ] .----

God-damn scars. I stared at my reflection. A round face, deep blue eyes and slightly freckled skin stared back. Yes, I’m fairly average looking, but above all, I look innocent. My hands gripped the edge of the basin harder, forcing my fingertips to turn a strange shade of yellow.

I looked in the mirror as I traced my latest scar that ran from my eye across to the centre of my cheek lightly. Last night’s events ran through my mind like a movie on loop and haunted me. How could it have gone any more wrong? I shuddered at the thought, leaving a peculiar sensation down my spine.

An annoying beeping alarm rang from the room next to me, bringing me back to my senses. I have to get out of here. My head flicked around, left to right and back again. The window. I held myself still for a moment longer, wondering whether I was truly sane or not. After deep contemplation I arrived with the conclusion that I was not. No way in hell. Ah well, were not all perfect are we?

I leaned over the expensive hotel tub looking out the window and down to the hard concrete below. Damn, I’m screwed. I had two options; jump and die or face the unsuspecting man on the other side of the door who happily did not know I was currently hiding in his bathroom. Option two wouldn’t sound so bad if the particular individual was not the second-in-line of the Manhattan-Mafia.

Cue slow clap, Well done, Iris, you truly are the brightest of geniuses.

I swung a leg over the edge of the window, the other slightly bent in the tub. I pushed the window up as high as it would go, all the while praying it didn’t screech. Don’t you dare make a noise, you stupid ass window…or I’m officially dead meat. Oh great, now I’m talking to inanimate objects. Great. My leg begun to shake and my hands started to tremble. Heights ain’t my thing. Some lose strands of hair made their way to the front of my face and I brushed them away quickly.

It was 5:30 and people had already begun arriving at their various workplaces around the city. One reason why I hated the New York lifestyle; you’re always up so freaking early. I looked down once more. No one was walking past, it’s now or never. A sharp clunk made its way through the door. Crap, mafia-boy is up.

Now it really was now or never.

I took a deep breath and using my arms and back leg, propelled myself forward. I closed my eyes, allowing my body to freely form into a protective ball-like crouch, bracing for impact. The wind whistled past my ears and the cold air stung my face. Usually in movies, this would be a slow-motion scene. Unfortunately for me this was reality and the fact was that I was falling towards solid concrete at an alarming rate. My hair whipped around my face. Where the heck is the ground?

Oh ho, I got my answer. A sickening crunch came from my leg as I hit the ground and a dull, yet heavy thud from the back of my head. As I felt the blood trickling from the fist-clenching wound on my head into my hair, I heard a few screams and many quick footsteps. So much for no people.

Sharp pain coursed through my body, a normal person would be releasing blood-curdling screams and thrashing the ground, but I was used to this. I guess I’m not normal. As I tried to lift myself up, my back resisted with brutal pain. Sighing in defeat, I rested on the cold ground and closed my eyes.

“Hello? 911? Ambulance! Please hurry! I think someone has suicide jumped!”

Oh shit.