Hitlist | h.s

One

"Penis."

"You're joking, right?" he laughed, playfully colliding his elbow to my arm.

"Nooope," I breathed, taking a drag from my cigarette.  A burning sensation snaked down my throat into my lungs. The feeling was painful yet refreshing.

"Penis is really your favorite word?"

I nodded, looking over to him -- the boy I called my best friend. His bright blue eyes practically glowed in the dim lighting as he beamed at me in awe. He shook his head with a chuckle and a lustrous grin. We had the type of special relationship where the word penis could come up normally in a conversation, and I loved that.

"So Niall, what's your favorite word?" I exhaled. I was captivated by the lingering smoke.

"Craic," he replied bluntly, like I should obviously know what that means and that it's his word of choice. He always had been a strange and quirky lad, and no one quite understood him like Melissa and I did. Then again... Neither of us were too great at it either.

"You are insane," I smiled, watching as he scrunched his nose at the putrid odor drifting around us. He never was a smoker. He was more of the alcohol type whereas I didn't drink. I never wanted to relapse on that again.

An intense silence over took us as the atmosphere got heavier. The blonde boy fidgeted with his fingers beside me which always meant something was up. It was mute until his thick Irish accent pierced through the air like a bullet.

"So... What's the deal?" he questioned, suddenly changing the subject.

"What are you talking about?" my eyes suspiciously zoomed his way to examine the bewildered expression graced upon his face.

"Why have you been acting off lately, Ari?" I shifted uncomfortably, shying away from the question I didn't dare ever answer. It hurt too much to regurgitate the story from the depths of my mind and the simple thought of it contorted my stomach into twists and knots.

"Nothing," I lied. I preferred to keep some things to myself, even from Niall.

"Come on!" he whined. "I know something is up. You always act odd around this time of year."

I stiffened, my brain whirring around like a hive of bees as I searched for the right words. As I parted my chapped lips to speak, my judgment got the best of me, and I held the real reason back. I'd managed to hide it for so long, but it gnawed at me day in and day out.

"You already know."

"The list?" he asked.

I nodded. It was a lie, but I nodded.

The Hitlist. The organized and carefully thought out list each of us in the East got every year. The requirements were simple: kill those on your list or get killed. It happened to one boy a while back. He couldn't pull through, was deemed useless, and was disposed of the morning following his deadline. I quite honestly didn't mind the killing people though, as twisted and demonic as that sounds.

His pupils burned into my own as he examined me, trying to piece together the emotions I was giving off. I'd always been a terrible liar, so I made sure I kept eye contact to avoid any more pestering.

"Ah," was all he said. The word floated throughout the air, snaking into my ears and just sitting. I could never muster up the courage to tell him what was actually gnawing at me and if anything, I was glad to kill the sons of bitches I was given, and I didn't want, nor did I need, anyone's pity. It was so long ago anyway.

"So, who did you get?"

"A boy and girl from over in Kettleburgh. They're both pretty easy targets as far as I know." He answered before the dead silence crept in again.