// thirty - five //
The dress was made of thin, crimson nylon, and it clung to Ella's hips too tightly. Ella uncomfortably stretched the material downwards against her thighs, wishing the length of the dress was just a few inches longer. She tugged the denim jacket closer around herself and pressed the electronic button on her car key, the sound of the door lock resonating in the empty street.
It was 10:43 p.m., and the night air was frigid.
She turned her eyes upwards, to rest upon the towering building that encased Jackson's apartment. Nerves danced in her throat and adrenaline traced through her veins in liquid embers. To steady herself, Ella dipped one hand into the pocket of her jacket and clutched Ryan's lighter. She had found the silver, rectangular object lying forgotten on the night side table in his bedroom. The metallic hardness of its siding against her trembling fingers was oddly comforting.
There wasn't time to hesitate and wonder if she could really do this. Ella crossed the length of sidewalk beside her parked Honda and started towards the apartment building's entrance. She couldn't look back. She had to do this.
Inside the building's entrance was the locked front door, which Kurt had keyed in easily earlier that morning. Ella reached, with a hand sweaty from nerves, and pressed the worn black button beneath the yellowed tape with 34 written in bold Sharpie.
When the speaker above the apartment numbers crackled, Ella's legs nearly turned her away from the entrance and threatened to race back out of the building's lobby as quickly as she had come. The sound of Jackson's voice made her legs stiffened and freeze into place, despite how warbled and distorted it had become by the cheap speaker.
"Who is it?"
Ella's voice had shrunk down to nothing, and she had to clear her throat to bring forth the sound out of her lungs. Her lips were inches from the speaker, and they only shook slightly as she replied softly, "It's Ella Jane."
Her tone of voice had been disguised with a layer of mystery, a sort of forced sultry note within the words. She masked the terror and anxiety with a low, seductive tone that Ella had no idea she possessed.
There was a slow, painful moment where the grey speaker was silent. She shut her eyes, heavy with kohl liner, and pressed her blood-red lips into a thin line. Jackson could very easily turn her away, and then this would have all been for nothing.
But the speaker before her crackled, and her heart leapt into her throat as the door lock clicked. "Come on up, Ella Jane."
Jackson's tone had been impossible to read.
The staircase that led up to the third floor was sticky with spilt beer. Ella stepped carefully and clung to the rusted railing the entire journey upwards, her legs shaky enough to give out on her. Somewhere on the second floor, a bed squeaked loudly and a baby cried. Ella wiped her sweaty hands against her upper thighs, and her palms slipped against the slick material of the red dress.
Once she reached the third floor, Ella followed the same path down the hallway as Kurt had earlier that morning. The narrow hallway smelt of stale cigarettes and body odor, and Ella wanted to be sick. Her head was spinning as the scratched door embellished with the brass number 34 approached, closer and closer, and she wondered if she would even have the courage to knock.
But when she stood before it, inches from the wooden, whitewash door, Ella's hand reached upwards automatically. She knocked twice, with an amount of forcefulness that disguised just how terrified she truly was.
An eternity seemed to pass before the door opened – an eternity in which Ella spent every second debating whether or not to run. Jackson pulled his apartment door inwards, and Ella nearly jumped. An irrational part of her had been hoping he would have changed his mind on letting her back inside his apartment.
Jackson's hair was disheveled, released from the green snapback he had worn earlier. The strands stood up every which way and the tips glistened with water from a recent shower, the brown color so dark in shade that he could nearly be considered black-haired. He was wearing deep grey slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, but the buttons were completely undone and he wore no shoes. It seemed Ella had caught him in the middle of getting ready for something.
"Well, Ms. Jane," Jackson greeted slowly, the right corner of his lips curved upwards, "fancy seeing you tonight."
Ella pushed the image of Ryan being handcuffed out of her mind, and she forgot the image of Jackson watching his arrest from the apartment window above the street. She forgot all of it and smiled warmly. "Hi, Jackson."
He grinned in return. Jackson was leaned against the right side of the doorway, his forearm casually balanced against the wooden edging above his head. The dress shirt was open, revealing a skinny chest and tattooed collarbones. Ella glanced downwards, looking him over through heavily mascaraed lashes.
"Can I come in?" she asked softly. "I wanted to talk to you."
Jackson's right eyebrow was arched, extenuating his heavy-lidded eyes and red rimmed pupils. When he spoke, his voice was low and scratched as though he had just been smoking. "Of course you can, Jane. Right this way."
His tone was laced with a hidden tease, and Ella wondered if he had already guessed what she was really there for. But he had extended his right arm behind him as though to welcome her inside, so there was no option other than to step through the doorway into the apartment.
She expected to hear the sound of laughter when she entered, or loud voices of the men who had been there earlier – but the apartment was oddly quiet. There was still the stinging scent of cigarette smoke tinting the air, and coupled with the low lighting, made Ella's eyes burn. Jackson shut the door shut behind her, the sound echoingly loud, and Ella tried not to panic as it reached her ears. There was absolutely no way of backing out now.
Jackson was close behind her as she started down the entrance hallway towards the living room. Ella could feel his eyes on her, tracing lines up and down her back as she walked, and heat prickled at the base of her neck. She didn't want his attention, but she needed it if this was going to work.
"I was getting ready to go out," Jackson explained casually, stepping around Ella as the short hallway opened up into the sitting area. She didn't have to look over at him to know he was grinning. "Excuse my appearance. I don't look as fine as you."
Ella didn't reply. He motioned towards the largest of the three leather couches, empty now instead of weighed down by the multiple people from that morning. "Please, sit down. Let's have this talk."
Ella side-stepped the sheer glass coffee table, slowly lowering herself onto the cushions of the couch. She crossed her right leg over the other, the cool leather material slipping against the backs of her thighs. Jackson sat beside her to the left, less than a foot from her hips, with his body angled toward her. On the low-set table before the couch, there were three rolled joints and a small bag of pure white cocaine beside the TV remote.
To the left, amid an array of dirty magazines, was a black pistol.
Ella's heart squeezed inside her chest and threatened to choke her.
"I'll admit, Ella Jane, I didn't think I'd see you again," Jackson mused, breaking the silence between them. "I was worried this morning would have been the last time. I didn't even get to know you."
Dragging her gaze away from the coffee table, Ella turned her head towards Jackson and forced an expression of puzzlement. "Why wouldn't you see me again?"
Jackson snorted, loudly, and Ella immediately thought her response had been too absurd to be believable. But he replied casually, instead of standing to lead her towards the door. "Well, you know, with everything that happened this morning. Your boyfriend getting arrested and all."
Ella laughed, her expression bold in genuine surprise without batting an eye. "You mean Hunter? He's not my boyfriend. I fucked him, yeah. But we sure as hell aren't dating."
She'd spat out his name and the word "dating" as though they were poison on her tongue. Her tone had been so incredibly fierce, so terribly casual as she admitted she had fucked him – when in reality, they had only ever kissed. She hadn't expected the words to slip between her lips so easily.
Jackson was intensely watching her as she spoke, but his lips were still pulled into half of a grin. He appeared to be carefully looking her over, as though he could spot any fault within what she had said. "What?" he asked slowly. "Kurt made it sound like you two were really close."
"That's what Hunter thought, too. Doesn't mean anything."
Ella had surprised herself at how easily she could play this role of indifference towards Ryan Hunter.
Jackson broke out into a laugh at her easy-going tone, and Ella matched it with a soft giggle through painted red lips. Twisting herself just a few centimeters closer, Ella asked teasingly, "What are you laughing at? You actually thought I liked Hunter?"
"Well, yeah. You helped him rob. Like, some Bonnie and Clyde shit. I don't know."
"Okay, Jackson, let me explain it," Ella interrupted with a small smile and satin tone, "I robbed stores with Hunter. That doesn't mean I wanted to help him pay off his debt – hell, I kept half of what we stole. That's why he took so long. I joined in because I wanted the cash. Which was why I was so surprised that you wanted me there this morning – not that I minded. I wanted to meet you."
She wondered if the last sentence had been too far, but Jackson didn't seem to find it odd. He was closer now, much closer, as though he had slid over a few inches on the cushions towards her. The very air seemed to be closing in on her.
Ella's breath was tangled up in the back of her throat, hot with nerves and mixed anxiety, but she felt an eerie sense of control. She felt calm, and the words seemed to roll off her tongue with such ease it was almost as though she believed them. Now, in the moment with Jackson only inches from her, she had to believe it.
"Ella Jane," he grinned, and she hated the way her name sounded encased by his oily tone of voice. "You are definitely not what I expected. I had no idea."
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing over at him somewhat shyly. Her heart was pounding behind her ribcage, but her tone remained smooth as she told him, "I'm always unexpected. But I don't want to talk about Hunter anymore. I don't even want to think about him again."
Jackson was so close that she could smell his cologne, strong wafts of cinnamon mixed with powerful, ugly scents of mint. She could see how badly the cigarette smoke had yellowed his teeth. "Well then, Ms. Jane. What do you want to talk about?"
"Let's talk about you," Ella replied softly. "I don't know anything about you."
His knee was touching hers. Jackson was smirking, and his voice was cocky when he spoke. "Alright. What do you want to know?"
Ella leaned closer, until his face was mere centimeters from hers. She wanted nothing more than to shrink away from him, but instead, she placed one hand against the material of his grey slacks. She breathed, "This."
When she kissed him, all she could taste was ash. His lips were dry and cracked against hers, and the stubble of his chin was rough as it scratched against her cheeks. She could taste the cigarettes on his tongue, in his breath and in his teeth. Her stomach curled in on itself, bile rose in the back of her throat, but she kissed him.
Jackson's hands were flush against her hips. She could feel the heat of his palms through the thin material of the dress, as his hands wandered up and down her thighs and ass. Ella let him touch her, but the feel of his hands on her made the very cells of her skin flame with disgust.
Minutes passed before she could pull away. Ella had been leaned back against the couch cushions, Jackson's hips pressed against hers. Breathless, she sat up as best she could, and pretended nothing about what had happened was terrible in every sense of the word. Jackson was grinning, a smear of her red lipstick against the corner of his mouth. He had no idea. He had no idea.
"Let's do some lines?"
He had gestured towards the small plastic bag of cocaine when he spoke, and that was the only reason Ella knew what he'd meant. Jackson had pulled himself off of her as he reached for it, so Ella quickly sat up and pulled the hem of her dress farther down to her mid-thigh. She nodded and gave a tiny smile when he glanced over his shoulder at her, as he sat at the edge of the couch to open the bag. "Yeah, definitely. Can I use your bathroom?"
Ella's heart seemed to hesitate in her chest, as though the next beat would give herself away. But Jackson shrugged and nodded without turning to look her way. "It's down the hallway. Left side."
Ella stood from the leather couch slowly, even touching his shoulder gently as she did so for good measure. Jackson only looked over when she turned away, his eyes on her backside for the second time as she side-stepped the couch. Ella's cheeks were flushed with heat, but she held her head high and kept her shoulders pushed back. She walked towards the hall as though it meant nothing to her, the sound of her heels clicking against the wooden floorboards echoing against the white plaster walls.
When she shut the bathroom door behind her, Ella flicked on the light and spit into the metallic sink. She ran the tap water on high and cupped one hand beneath the faucet, lifting the water to her lips. She swirled the stale water in her mouth to rid the taste of cigarettes and Jackson's lips, spitting it out into the sink as though it were poison. When all she could taste was the cool, transparent flavor of water, Ella twisted off the faucet.
Under the pale light of the overhanging fluorescent bulb, Ella rested her shaking palms against the counter and looked at herself in the cracked mirror. Her lips were swollen from kissing Jackson, and the red lipstick had smeared at the corners. Her eyes were wide and the pupils dilated, a wild look embedded in the irises. It reminded Ella of when she had robbed the convenience store on her own, when she had watched that animalistic girl from afar.
She needed that to happen now. She needed the wild girl to appear for a second time, here in this apartment, tonight. Ella had the kohl-lined eyes, crimson lips, and messy honey-brown hair. She needed that girl to appear right now, in this instant.
Ella reached into the inner pocket of her denim jacket. Her right hand curled around the handle of Ryan's pistol.
He had left it in the passenger foot well of her mother's Honda, inside the black duffel bag they had taken with them to rob the final gas station. That morning felt like a lifetime ago now, sixteen hours later. Ella held the black gun at her side, the hard curve of the gripped handle digging into her palm. She turned and faced the closed bathroom door.
She thought of Ryan. She thought of his dead brother, and she thought of his skinny mother, hollowed out by it all. She thought of his father, with alcohol in his veins and abuse in his heart. She thought of Ryan being pushed into the back of a red and blue flashing police car, silver links biting into his wrists. She thought of Jackson watching from the upstairs window.
Ella thought of Ryan Hunter, and how he didn't deserve any of it.
She reached forwards with her left hand and twisted the bathroom's brass door handle.
The hallway was silent. Ella stepped slowly, carefully, her black heels now scarcely making a sound against the waxed flooring. She held the gun at her side as the entrance to the living room came closer. The hand that clasped the gun's handle didn't shake.
Jackson was leaned over the glass coffee table, the back of the leather couch facing Ella as she entered the room. She could only see the back of his head as he snorted the cocaine, the sound smooth with practiced ease. Ella breathed in silently, cool air flowing into her lungs as she trapped it inside her chest. She raised the gun.
When she pulled back the hammer with her thumb to cock it, a tiny click escaped. Jackson twisted his head around to look.
In a fleeting, single instant, Ella saw the cold realization in his eyes. Jackson started to stand from the couch, and she released the breath from her lungs in a rush of air.
Ella squeezed the trigger.