The Hit List

Chapter 10

With his right foot dragging on the metal, he adjusted on the stool. "You don't like talking about yourself, do you?" He pulled the subject back to his side, gripping it tightly. "You look so small, you know. When you're sitting like that. You're so tall when standing, but right now you look tiny." He sounded tense, unsure if his words were meant to hurt me.

He takes a deep breath and looks at the wall, but my eyes stay on his face. "I'm all legs. I got it from my mom. I got a lot from her." It was a truth that was easy to see. I'm the spitting image of the woman who raised me. A sickening mockery every time a need to remind me is thrown into my face. "What about you? Did your parents give you anything besides your name? Do you still talk to them?" My voice is harsh.

"You don't want to know anything about me," he said, his hands resting on his knees as he leaned closer. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"But satisfaction brought it back," I completed the quote. Judging by his smile, it seemed to please him, if only for a moment.

"The more you learn about me, the more you'll wish for ignorance to return to its home within you." The atmosphere was already frigid, but his remarks made it even worse. I feel ice moving under my skin and causing lumps to appear on my arms.

"You'll miss when you were that uneducated child." With each syllable, he seems worn out as his reflexes slow down.

"I got sick a lot as a kid." My eyes continue to linger on the spot where the circle on my pants used to be, even though it has long since dried. "I don't anymore. Or at least, when I do, I know that it's not physical. There's not much I can do to cure it." 

He opens his mouth in response without waiting for me to say anything else. "Stress has a way of avoiding doctor's detections. Unless something is actually wrong, that's when it becomes the only diagnosis they can come up with. Excruciating headache? Yeah, it's probably just stress. Maybe try to take deep breaths or go on walks. But a child? No. There's nothing for their tiny brains to short-circuit over."

I had the impression that my brain was trying to remember how it got to be where it is today. My stomach flipped under my skin, and I felt like that little child all over again.

But I'm older now. Words coming out of my mouth instead of food that hasn't fully digested. "We'd eat out every Friday. We'd go to some cheap buffet, located in a strip mall. Real classy joint." Laughter bubbled between my lips, enjoyment missing from the sound. 

Standing up, my eyes scanned the gun as I made my way to the silver fridge. When I woke up this morning I could sense my day would be spent drinking, but I never imagined the reasoning behind it.

Hitch's hands stayed in his lap, but he watched everything I did. He didn't even move his fingers close to the gun.

My hand went to the wine bottle and I gripped it. Craving the safety of the known. "Everything would be fine. I'd pile my plate with mac and cheese, pizza, a slice of carrot cake topped with gummy bears and hot fudge." I made my way towards my cupboard, stretching my body to reach the glasses on the top shelf. Talking more to myself than the strange being occupying my kitchen stool.

"I loved carrot cake, can't stand cream cheese frosting though. But it had this vanilla frosting, so fucking sweet, I loved sweets as a kid. Still do." I filled the glass up halfway, twisting the top back on, not bothering to offer to fill a second glass. "Not like wine. Wine I just love for the way it makes me feel." I took a sip, struggling not to allow my mouth to give away my distaste.

"Everything would be fine. But when I finished chewing, the sound of the room would get so loud. Kids were just rushing around screaming, and it seemed like everyone was yelling. I mean, I was a kid too, but not that kind of kid. I couldn't handle it."