Chipped Heartz & Broken Smilez

Weakest (1)

On one of our dates, Bella showed me the bodies of her father and half-brother after she killed them. The two men lay on the dark grey tiles of her father's bedroom. Throats slit, skin stained dark red, mouths gaping as if they died mid-breath or mid-scream.

We had to chop their body parts into small bits, arrange them in garbage bags, and stuff them into six different duffel bags, so they were easier to carry.

To end up on Bella's hit list, all you needed to do was look at her the wrong way or be in her vicinity when she was in one of her moods.

To fool the neighbourhood cameras, Bella and I had dressed as cleaners from the Ice River agency. Baggy lime green jumpsuits swallowed our bodies. Silicone face masks helped us look like someone other than ourselves. We scrubbed the blood and fleshy matter off the tiles, paying careful attention to the grooves. Some of the blood had splashed the purple walls, and we had to pause to clean them before packing up our supplies and taking them out to the truck. Bella was dressed as a man; black fuzz covered her cheeks and chin. Her dark eyes were as cold as ever as she buckled her seatbelt.

It took us an hour to leave Grids B and C behind before we finally entered Grid D, where there were fewer cameras and fewer police patrols, less army presence as well. The van sped down the road, spilling its headlights across the black asphalt. The clock read a little after two. There was a strange feeling in my chest. I could report her; hell, they might even promote my family—what was left of it— to a higher grid if I did. But... with one hand on the steering wheel, Bella reached across and caressed my hair. She smiled, and warmth filled my tight chest. Without thinking, I grinned.

***

Captain Black made us stand by the foot of our beds.

My mind flashed back to the day before when I had returned the mop to the supply closet and happened to see a collection of black spray paint balanced on a wooden shelf near the bucket. I had looked over my shoulder to make sure that no one was in the hallway, then stuffed the container into the waistband of my pants, making myself into a well-hung man before heading back to the dorm.

***

In the centre aisle of the room, two rows of cadets stood two metres apart, facing each other, hands held behind our backs, chins raised, backs straight, the epitome of obedience. I had no problem obeying Bella's every order, but Captain Black was different. She abused her power. I hated blindly following Yolinda's commands out of fear and was starting to understand why Bella killed people.

Yolinda sauntered down the aisle, staring into each of the fledging's eyes, trying to strike fear into their fragile hearts. She asked each of them, "Did you write 'here sleeps the biggest bitch in North America' on my sheets with black paint?" A pause. "No? Then, how about you?" she asked, moving on to her next target.

It took everything in me not to laugh. My shoulders jerked, and I accidentally snorted. Then, clearing my throat, I raised my head and stared at the ceiling.

Yolinda made sure to question the others before approaching me last, though she had assigned me to a bed in the middle of the room, far from the door where it was hard to escape without alerting someone but close enough for her to interview me much earlier than she did. "Did you write it?" she asked, standing by my side but facing the opposite direction. Her right ear was only a few inches from mine. I inhaled the sweet body spray she had seemingly bathed with. A scent only the wealthy could afford.

Though I tried not to, a smile curled my lips. Yolinda inhaled sharply, then said, "You're on night watch. Try not to fall asleep. It could cost you your life."