Page 5 of Vipers & Roses

Ruining my peace and solidarity, three students come down my row, probably because no other seats are available, and a brown-haired girl is forced to sit right next to me. I’m about to do the dutiful thing, smile, and give her a friendly hello. But her body language says it all by refusing to acknowledge me and turning her back. I check my underarms to see if I stink because I’m sure I put deodorant on after the swim. Nope, I smell like chlorine, which could be worse.

People are weird. I spend my days at uni alone because I have no interest in making friends, but it’s fascinating how girls, in particular, treat aloneness as a disease. If I prefer my own company over others, then something must be wrong with me. Well…it’s not that far from the truth. There is plenty wrong with me, but I thought I was a master in disguise.

While Ed Willard clarifies some points in our assignment, which is due in two weeks, I spend several minutes clearing my throat, coughing, sniffing, and clicking my pen aggressively to annoy the girl next to me. When she wriggles in her seat in discomfort, I smirk in satisfaction—all in a day’s work.

After reminding us what he was looking for in our assignment answers, Ed moved on to the muscular system and which muscles are prone to specific injuries. As I’m deep in concentration, listening to Ed, the swimmer roughs his hair up with his hand and then discreetly glances back at me again. This time, I shoot him the middle finger. His frown deepens, and he shakes his head in disapproval as he turns back to the front of the class again. I hope I’ve deterred his attention once and for all. Besides, has he forgotten there’s a girl right next to him who has an obvious crush on him? Men can be so blind sometimes.

I check the time on my phone because I’ll have to leave soon to meet Blake, the gun dealer, and I’m strangely nervous about it. This is new territory for me, buying an unregistered weapon on the sly from the thief who stole it. How much prison time would I get for that, excluding the murder part? I’m also imagining Blake being a dangerous type who’d shoot me if I sweat a little. No doubt I will sweat because it’s a hot day, and I’m already freaking out.

I grab my bag and reach inside for the $200 cash I withdrew from my bank account earlier. I’m paranoid that someone will steal it, so I keep checking that it’s still there because I can’t afford to take out another $200 if I lose it. I open my wallet inside my bag to find the four $50 notes and breathe again.

As soon as I closed my bag and dumped it at my feet under the desk, a screwed-up ball of paper flew out of the swimmer’s hand toward me. I’m not sure who he’s targeting, but as it soars over the row in front, it bounces off the head of a student and lands on the open book of the brown-haired girl beside me.

The swimmer signals to me to grab the paper ball, but I ignore him and turn my head to the front of the auditorium to concentrate on Ed.

I hear crackling beside me as the brown-haired girl smooths out the paper, and I flick a mischievous look at the swimmer, flaring my nostrils, enjoying every bit of his horror that the wrong girl is reading his little message. Unfortunately, due to the position the brown-haired girl is sitting in relation to me, I cannot see the expression on her face. But I can see the look on the swimmer’s face, and I have to cover my mouth to stop laughter from escaping and interrupting the class.

The swimmer turns back to face the front of the class, and I can’t help but notice the fine lines of his neck, curving down to those broad, muscular shoulders. His dark brown hair is cut short, only about an inch long, and there’s a cowslick patch of hair at the nape of his neck. I imagine what it feels like to run my fingertips over that small patch that grows in the wrong direction, then trace his lines along his smooth shoulders. I bet he smells nice, or maybe he smells like chlorine like I do.

I haven’t been near a man for two years. Or, more accurately, I haven’t let a man closer than two feet near me unless we’re related. As soon as a man starts showing interest in me, I panic and do whatever it takes to put him off. Before I was ruined by The Four, I loved sex, and even though I was single at the time, I had two regular hookups. Before I became single, I was in a loving relationship with a simple but loyal boy with whom I went to high school for two years. But now, the thought of these men touching me fills me with angst.

If I ever open my heart and soul to someone, he has to be a man who doesn’t know me. Someone who knows nothing of my past so we can start fresh with an empty canvas.

When the lecture ends, I grab my bag and flee quickly, not just to avoid the swimmer but also because I need to drive a twenty-minute journey to Rockford Park by the lake. Avoiding the swimmer's eye when he turns back to look at me, I focus on my escape and weave through the thick horde of students.

Once out in the corridor, I start jogging toward the exit, aching to get out into the sunshine and the fresh air. My stomach is in knots about meeting the gun seller, and I’m starting to have doubts that I can kill someone. I’m not sure that I can be the one to decide his fate and when he’ll take his last breath. But then I see my enemy’s arrogant face behind my eyes and remember the bruises on my skin, and my mind is changed instantly.

It’s crucial not to get distracted by fleeting things, such as handsome men in nothing but a towel. Keep my head leveled and focused.

Study. Eat. Sleep. Kill.

4

I found a parking spot by the ferry terminal and checked the time on my phone. 12.48 PM. Good. It’ll take me ten minutes to walk to Rockford Park, a green space by the lake with a children’s play area. Once seated on the bench, I can relax and breathe a little. Honestly, I’ll probably be worse until the deal ends and I’m back home in my tiny apartment.

I checked for the tenth time that I’ve still got the $200, and it hasn’t vanished, and yes, thankfully, it’s still there. Climbing out of my hatchback, I feel the heat of the midday sun on the back of my neck and fix my golden ponytail. I now wish I wore jeans or sweatpants rather than shorts because I don’t know what type of man Blake is. However, Zara wouldn’t set me up with a hitman, mafia boss, or someone dangerous. Or maybe she would.

With my bag over my shoulder, I lock my yellow speedster and start walking across the road to the lake, glistening from the sun as small peaks of white pop up and down. There’s a small boat out on the water with a man sitting back in a chair with his fishing rod, surrounded by shags bobbing on the waves dipping down now and again to catch a fish.

All along this side of the lakefront are three-story Georgian architecture apartments, each painted a different color. But my stomach is too churned up to enjoy the view, as today marks the beginning of a new me. Walking past the playground, a group of mothers chat as their kids play on the swings and slides, and I stop to re-check my text conversation with Blake.

He said to wait for him on the park bench overlooking the jetty. Right. I’m in Rockford Park now, and every ten feet, there is a park bench, but the one that overlooks the jetty is down by the bumper boat rides, another two-minute walk. I still have eight minutes, so I’m all good for time.

As I approach the bench closest to the jetty, an elderly couple is occupying it, eating sandwiches. I can hardly ask them to move, so I walk to the next bench and sit there, placing my bag on my lap.

There are many people about because the day is so sunny and beautiful, so it seems like a strange location to choose to make an illegal trade, but I guess Blake knows what he’s doing.

A man approaches my bench, and I hug my bag tightly, expecting him to be the one. He’s about fifty years old, with a protruding stomach, and finishing off a tub of ice cream. I also noticed he doesn’t have a bag to carry a gun in. Maybe it’s not him. He smiles at me before dropping his empty ice cream carton in the trash can beside the bench and walking off. Okay, that’s not Blake.

1.02 PM Blake is still not here, so being the charitable person I am, I’ll give him another eight minutes. That should be sufficient enough. I will leave if he hasn’t shown up in eight more minutes. I gaze down at the bench I should be waiting on that overlooks the jetty, and the elderly couple is still there. I don’t see anyone hovering around waiting for me.

My eyes are pulled toward the bumper boats zooming about the pool, people screeching in laughter as they crash into each other, and water flicking up and saturating them. It looks like a lot of fun, but it's not fun to do alone. Perhaps I could bribe Z one weekend.

“Rae?” I jump in fright as a smooth voice chants my name and gaze up at him, shielding the sun from my eyes with my hand.

“Yes,” I breathe as my heart slams against my ribcage. I’m doing this. I am actually doing this.

“Rae?” he repeats, sounding confused.

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