Page 96 of The Home Grown
And that’s it. That’s all it takes for something inside me to snap like a cheap comb.
After all the compromises I’ve made, all the times I’ve let Kathryn have her way—I’mdone.
“Am I? Because I don’t think I am. I think … you’re scared that I’ll make something of myself. I think you’re scared I’ll find my own way and I’ll make my own decisions and mistakes. And you won’t have control of me any longer.”
Kathryn’s eyes flash, and she turns, reaching for a decorative vase full of glass pebbles sitting on the counter. Before I can register what’s happening, in one firm swoop she half-spins and the vase sails through the air, clattering to the floor after it rebounds against the mirror opposite my stylists’ chair.
Thousands of pieces of glass and mirror rain down and all I can do is stare at the wreckage. My jaw on the floor.
For a long moment, no one moves. Not me. Not Kathryn. All I can hear is her laboured breathing, heavy and urgent, until there’s a shuffling to my right, and I drag my attention away from the mess to see Chantelle, in an almost comical shock.
Then Kathryn moves. Her expression shifts to horror, then panic as she realises the magnitude of her actions. She looks at me, then back towards the mess.
“That’s your fault,” she says.
I open my mouth to speak, protest even—but nothing comes. I can only stand flabbergasted, willing myself to say something.
But Kathryn, being Kathryn, does what she always does when she doesn’t get her own way. She runs. Without another word, she turns and grabs her bag and bolts for the exit, leaving Chantelle and me in complete disbelief.
BETTSY
“You knowwhat I found out last night?” I say to the guys as we’re readying up for the game. “The whole concept of hiring a hitman is bullshit. See, the media industry has glamorised the whole ‘assassin for hire’ thing, but in reality, they don’t exist in the way people think they do.”
Johnny stares at me. Hutch and Danny roll their eyes. Ryan and Liam laugh.
“A hitman?” Hutch says. “What the hell are you doing looking for hitmen?”
“I’m not,” I say. “I was listening to a podcast, and I got curious. Wanted to learn more.”
“What was the podcast? Dumb things to Google to get yourself arrested?”
I roll my eyes. “Har-har. Nah, there’s a site on the dark web claiming to knock people off for, like, a few thousand dollars,” I say. “But it’s a hoax. No hitmen. Just some asshat rolling in money from people dumb enough to pay up.”
“People don’t actually pay for that sort of stuff though, do they?” Danny says.
“Yes. That’s the scary part,” I say. “They do. And it turns out, someone hacked the site and had access to all the requests. Hundreds of them. Then he spent months trying to track the targets down, and when he did, he’d call them and tell them what he found to warn them.”
“But I thought you said the hitmen weren’t real?” Danny says.
“They aren’t, but there’s still someone who put the hit out, isn’t there? No doubt they’ll realise their request isn’t getting fulfilled and opt to do something about it themselves. Honestly, it’s wild. People just don’t give a shit, do they?”
Johnny stands up and pulls on his jersey. “Are you okay, bud? I’m not sure the dark web is the place for you.”
“I just find it interesting,” I shrug.
But he’s right. It’s probably not the place for me.
It started with an informative podcast when I couldn’t sleep last night; I was still buzzing from the evening I spent with Ellie.
The next thing I knew, I’d discovered that for two hundred pounds, you can pay someone to hack a social media account, and for another few hundred, you can pay to have someone harassed online. And did I think about paying up? It crossed my mind, I can’t lie.
For a second, I thought about hiring someone to operate the ‘justiceforBettsy’ stuff full time or perhaps, figure out who’s behind it. Surprisingly, it’s made a positive impact on my public image; another finding of my late-night jaunt online. In addition, getting Rochelle harassed on the side would be an opportunity to give her a taste of her own medicine. I briefly considered doing some reputational damage to Kathryn too, but then I slept and woke up feeling less malevolent.
Honestly, I should never trust the ideas I have between the hours of one and four in the morning.
“You haven’t paid anyone to … you know, kill someone off, have you?” Johnny says, in a quiet voice.
“No, of course not,” I say. “Just heard it on a podcast and thought I’d share.”
