SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 18

The driver came around with the car, like the journey the return to the apartment was dreadfully silent. I didn't acknowledge I was madly scratching my arm until Irvin grabbed my hand; forcefully holding on so I couldn't resume. Once back into the apartment, I headed into the bathroom to wash away the day's events and to get as far as possible away from Cole.

*

With our last day in Shanghai Irvin headed out with Qiang to Zhujjajjao Ancient Town. Qiang had asked me but I refused to leave the bedroom until they were gone. Cole had gone out and I didn't really care where, as long as he was gone and out of sight, I could relax. I didn't have much sleep and when I finally got around to unconsciousness, I had a nightmare. It was a distorted and gruesome film of yesterday's dinner – except it was my head that was in the icebox. It was awful.

A beautiful city had been ruined in a couple of hours. I wasn't in the mood to be sightseeing. I couldn't get the event out of my head, becoming frustrated, I rose from the sofa – I had been trying to focus on a programme in a language I didn't understand. There was something wrong with my memories, like a crooked smile I was trying to hide: I was having distorted flashbacks of a door, a postman, something... it was futile, like trying to extract blood from stone.

Shit didn't make sense.

The front door opened, slammed, footsteps, Cole walked into the living room. He stopped in the middle of the room for a long moment, and as quick as a snap of fingers, he picked up a vase of flowers and smashed it against the wall. The act was berserk, frenzied, totally unexpected. He snarled gravelly, the sound vibrating the back of his throat, and raised a chair high above his head. I met his incensed, hateful gaze with a look that asked, Are you mad? He fought with himself, with his rage, before setting the chair down softly. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Where you think you're better than me!" he snapped like an elastic band, riled up, "get off your high fucking horse, stop looking down your nose at everyone like you're too good to be poor, to be living amongst the rats."

"You don't even know me–"

"I don't need to," he gave me a dirty look, one filled with hate, "I know what you're like from observing your behaviour and attitude, you're a little bitch."

"I didn't know you were a psychologist," I kept my voice calm, showing restraint, "as for being better than you, I'd say I am. I don't get upset and have a tantrum because I couldn't hurt someone."

He scoffed softly, sneering derisively, and said. "You don't know jack shit. Why don't you bleat that good Samaritan speech to your murdering father? I'm sure he could use the advice. Or is Daddy an exception?"

"Can you act civil for once, Cole? Respect goes both ways."

I watched as he bites his tongue, sighs and sits looking peeved. He doesn't respond, his jaw jutting out stubbornly like a child who refuses to say sorry and turned his attention to the TV. I hold the silence with him and then leave the room to go pack.

When I returned he was sitting in the same position and now looked tranquil. Something had been bothering me since last night, and after deliberating for quite some time, I asked. "If I ask you something, will you promise not to bite my head off?"

"Go ahead."

"Did Irvin know why you were coming here?"

"Obviously."

"Why did you ask me along?"

"Because you're clueless, you would've drawn less attention to us. In case you didn't know, we were followed to Shanghai." He shook his head at my surprise, continuing. "Of course you didn't notice. White guy, glasses, he smiles at everyone, tries to strike up a conversation. No doubt he'll be sitting a couple of seats behind us on the plane back."

"Who is he?"

"An agent, works for national security. I'm somehow a threat." He smiled sardonically, amused.

"Was it worth the risk travelling all this way to exact out revenge?"

"It would've been if Shěn didn't lie to me."

"I don't understand you. It seems so barbaric to be invited to fly across the globe and to be honoured with the murder of another man."

"Shěn killed a close friend. I was promised the kill of his cousin to continue our relationship. He didn't hold up on his end of the deal. That was disrespectful."

"An eye for an eye–"

"Makes the whole world blind. Yeah. I get it." Cole said with a bite to his tone, ending the conversation.

*

Irvin returned with Qiang, jubilant, babbling a mile a minute about the places he went to see. It was evening, the sun was beginning its lethargic, drowsy slip into nightfall. Suitcases packed, Qiang jiggled his keys, waiting for us at the front door. Irvin was oblivious of the cold shoulder I was giving him, and oblivious of the headache he was giving me. "Oh, I took out all the cameras overnight," Cole patted Qiang on the shoulder, "you should find them in the bin."

Qiang didn't know what to do; he smiled falsely, and jiggled his keys once more.

*

I was eager to get home, to put the horrors of Shanghai in the past, to click delete and forget the nightmare. On the plane Cole gave me a discreet shove and I glanced up, walking past us was a white man, combed back light blonde hair, and a distinguishable mole on his cheek. His ears stuck out and his thumb tapped on his silver wedding band. His eyes were on mine; he smiled, nodded slightly and walked past our seats. "Inconspicuous, isn't he?" Cole murmured from besides me, keeping his eyes trained on his book (Stephen King – A Good Marriage).

"Hmm," I responded.

As the plane took off, Irvin's trying-to-make-time-go-fast games were slowly beginning to irritate me. "Would you rather live in Saudi Arabia or America?"

"America."

"Tofu or beef?"

"Beef. Tofu should be reserved for prison inmates."

"Vegans would disagree. Transgender or Asexual?"

"Asexual. Have you seen the murder and suicide rate for Transgendered people?"

"Good point. Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton?"

"Would I rather be a racist, orange-skinned piece of shit or a racist, blonde, piece of shit? Neither, Irvin. I'd rather be Bernie Sanders."

"Tell the truth or lie?"

"Depends. What would you choose, Irvin? Say hypothetically a friend asked you about the intentions of another. Are you going to tell the truth or lie?"

He didn't catch on, thinking it over for a quick second and then saying. "I'd tell the truth – always."

"Right. Go to sleep, Irvin."

"Uh, sure."

I made a mental note to distance myself from Irvin – distance myself from everyone; Cole especially.

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