Page 9 of Secrets

My father is kneeling down over Mommy who is lying on the floor. She’s hidden behind the bed, so I can only see her feet. They’re painted in red. The same thick syrup as a snow cone.

The wood creaks under the weight of my foot and I freeze.

My father turns, glancing over his shoulder. His smile is as big and odd as the man’s from the snow cone stand. “Hey there, sweetheart. Wanna give daddy a hand in the garden?”

* * *

It’s nota secret I have an aversion to people. Have since I was young and realized the majority of them were horrid, oftentimes selfish, evil, and vile. And when I grew up, it only became more apparent that those traits grew tenfold among adults, and my tolerance of them became almost nonexistent.

After taking over my family’s floral business due to the death—or perhaps murder is a more appropriate word—of both my parents, I renovated the vacant loft above it with the help of my temporary guardian, and now live there. I seldom leave for anything, and when I do, it’s physically painful.

Besides a handful of people that I tolerate, I don’tlikeanyone. Even the few men and women I’ve slept with are nothing more than a temporary pleasure. They never truly appeal to me, scarcely entertain me, and most certainly don’t interest me.

Yet this woman sitting no less than an arm’s length away has done exactly that.

Piqued my interest. Even if only just slightly.

I’m not quite sure if it’s her clumsy boldness or her unexpected intuition, but I find myself easily indulging in this woman’s company.

I try to reason with myself that it’s merely because it’s easier to kill a person from up close than afar, but I know better. Being seen with her is most certainly dangerous, especially because she’ll be found dead in less than a month. And yet, I’ve accepted her invitation to stay.

A strange twist in my throat causes me to clear it as I watch her finger trace over the rim of her shot glass. “Care to dance?”

I lift a brow. “What about me implies I’m the dancing type?”

Dancing requires passion and strong emotions, something I’m incapable of but traits this woman is so clearly overflowing with.

The agent grins, and I hate that it makes her face brighten further. “Oh, I don’t think you’ve danced a day in your life, but perhaps it’s because you haven’t found the right partner, Red.”

My other eyebrow joins the first, wrinkling the skin on my forehead. “Red?”

She frowns, her thoughts her own for a moment before she shrugs. “Cliche, but it felt natural.”

This makes me huff out a bit of laughter. The vibration is strange against my vocal cords. “I see. Well, unfortunately, I don’t think even someone as influential as yourself could get me on that sticky floor.”

My eyes shoot to the small surface, my insides turning from the slosh of grime splattered over the worn wood. Who knows the last time anyone took a mop to it. A clean one, at least.

“A germaphobe.” I turn back to a smug-looking Jessica. Her eyes shimmer as if she’s discovered a national secret. “I wouldn’t have guessed that, considering there’s dirt on your boots.”

Only marginally surprised by her observations, I lift my hands. “As well as in my nail beds. Nature is full of life, not germs. And what’s on that floor would likely give a person the plague if they were to lick it.”

The agent nods slowly, her eyes giving way to her mind. She’s trying to catalog me, figure out the dozens of pieces I’m composed of, and lock them into place. Perhaps if she were successful, she would realize how dangerous I am, and how she should stay away from me. Too bad my pieces are far too jagged and broken to ever be whole again.

“So I was on the money with the hiking.”

My lips draw down in the corner. “It seems so. Though I haven’t done it since I was a child. I’m not sure I’d have the stamina now.”

“What else do you like to do?” The woman across from me does the strangest thing and pulls herself up so she can cross her legs under her. “What are your hobbies?”

My eyes rake over both her odd posture and her. She looks so at ease, so comfortable. It’s as though we are the oldest of friends and are on the couch catching up after a long week with a well-deserved glass of wine.

I roll my shoulders slightly, but it does nothing to stave off the strange discomfort settling over me. “I enjoy gardening and the occasional bird sighting.”

She perks up. “Oh cool. What’s your favorite bird?”

“Turkey vulture,” I say without hesitation. I’ve always admired its role in the ecosystem. Without them, carcasses would begin to pile and diseases would spread. I view it as I do my place in Noxus. Without me, there would be far more scum running rampant.

Jessica grimaces. “Oh. Well, which kind do you think is the prettiest?”

---