"You think he'll let you?"
"You think he can stop me?"
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Margeux can't decide whether she's a sociopath, or a psychopath. Continuous events tend to sway her either way. Out of all the people she could kill on her eighteenth birthday, she en...
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THEY'RE BUSY TRYING to figure out how to take Director Hayes down. Which is fair. And I'll allow it if the time comes. But I just can't be fucked to join right now. Maybe if I were in a good mental state I wouldn't be either. I still like this job.
But I suppose, even I, have a little problem with a tyrant as big as Hayes holding nuclear blueprints and trying to eliminate his footsteps by murdering innocent civilians.
Still. I find myself sitting outside the building, in the parking lot, on the cement, with a plastic bag and dish in front of me. It's been a while since I last smoked. Let alone weed. But it's a good little distraction.
And hey. I'm sure Sasha is worried about me. She always is. But I'm really not that torn up about all the shit that happened with Reign. I'm upset, definitely, but I'm not heartbroken. Or in a murderous frenzy.
Did I feel like killing him in the moment? Of course. But now that I have time to myself, a long time to myself, I've realised it's pretty easy to get over. That he was always sort of a dickhead. Always rude. Always hated me. What did I really lose? Some guy who only showed interest in me because he was frustrated and apparently is into girls who annoy him because he's a masochist? Yeah, he's not all that.
And I'm fucking incredible. I'm hot, smart, and I can kill people super duper well. He's the one missing out. Fuck him. But I also don't care that much.
I pick up the cannabis from the bag, examining it closely with a twinkle of anticipation in my chest. I roll myself a pretty shitty joint, but it's twisted well enough I can smoke it - and so that's all that matters.
My fingers move skilfully, expertly tucking the ground cannabis into the paper, creating a well-formed cylinder. I lick the adhesive strip on the paper and seal the joint.
Patting down my jeans I search for my lighter and hold the joint carefully between my fingers. With a slow and deliberate motion, I bring the flame to the end of the joint, gently inhaling as I light it.
As the smoke fills my lungs, everything settles. It feels nicer. Better. Like I can forget. Obviously everyone in Team X's lives have been going through it. From the Dickens brothers becoming massive problems, the nuclear issues where we were lied to, Vika getting shot, Reign leaving, me kind of killing Liam (my bad) and Check Up Day getting hectic as fuck.
It's hard for everyone. But here, with my weed and my comfortable seating position, things don't feel as hard anymore.
My ex boyfriend, the one I killed when I was fifteen, introduced me to weed. Usually the atmosphere would allude to peer pressure. It was all the jocks and the girls on the dance team, and they were seated underneath some bleachers when they offered it to me.
I said yes - not because I wanted to impress them - but simply because I was curious. I've always been curious about plants. So what if they were usually deadly ones like the deadly nightshade that I wanted to slip into my parents cup? Still a plant.
