Page 185 of Eternal
It's too late for that, too late for guilt, too late for regret.
So, I dress up.
The tears have dried up, but the weight of what I’m about to do sits heavy on me. I keep thinking about the people in my life. Do they have any idea what I’m becoming right now? How am I letting my body, the same as it’s always been, be used again?
Could Damir even imagine me right now, dressing to play the part, the part of something I’m not, just to end a life that deserves to be ended?
Would he still look at me the same way if he knew what I was capable of? Would he still be gentle with me, or would it change everything?
The mirror reflected someone I didn’t recognize. A woman wrapped in silk, her hair falling in loose waves, her lips painted the kind of red that men like him liked to see.
I ran my fingers over the thin straps of my dress, adjusting them, making sure everything sat just right. Then I pulled on my thigh-high stockings, letting my fingers ghost over the knife strapped to my leg. The blade lay cold against my skin, hidden beneath lace.
I had done this before, this wasn’t the first time I had dressed this way for a killing job, it should have felt degrading, it would have felt degrading to anyone else.
But my body hadn’t belonged to me in a long time, it was just a thing, a tool to be used.
The moment I had slipped into this dress, I had ceased to exist. He wouldn’t be meeting me tonight, he’d be meeting what he had ordered… a fantasy, an illusion.
51
AZRA
“Afraid” by The Neighbourhood
Present
The building stretched into the sky, so high it looked like it could scrape the stars. I wonder if I can send him higher than the stars tonight, or lower than hell.
I swung off my bike, my stilettos hitting the hard ground, rolling my shoulders, I smoothed my hair and put my helmet on the bike. My dress rode up slightly, exposing more of my thigh, but I didn’t adjust it, I didn’t care, it was all part of the act.
The security guard at the entrance barely glanced at my face, his eyes dropped straight to my chest, he didn’t even ask for my name.
I wondered how many women he’d watched walk into this apartment.
Did he pick them for their age?
Because tonight, I’m eighteen. I needed a reason to kill him, and he wanted someone young, innocent. So, he deserved what he’s going to get.
“Another girl,” he muttered, stepping aside. “He’s on the ninth floor.”
I tilted my head, lips curving in something soft, something sweet. “Thank you, sir.”
He nodded, didn’t even blink, already looking past me, probably waiting for the next girl, the next night. The elevator doors slid shut, and for a second, I was alone, I let my face drop.
Everything about me was gone, detached, floating somewhere outside my body.
My reflection stared back at me in the polished glass, and I studied myself, my makeup was perfect; my dress clung to my body in all the ways that mattered, like something a man like him would pay for.
I adjusted the strap on my thigh, feeling the knife secured there, still in place, still waiting. It was a comforting feeling, knowing it would be there when I needed it.
Ding.
The doors opened and I stepped out, the penthouse was predictable, floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, abar stocked with alcohol too expensive to actually taste good.
And him. Marco Likan.
Sitting on a leather couch, one arm draped over the backrest, sipping from a crystal glass like he was some kind of king. His robe was loose, exposing his chest, his stomach, his age. I almost gagged. I could practically smell the decay on him.
