Shitty days came once in a while, often when she was less ready for them. That day had been one of those days. She had slapped Amanda Griffin for calling her a whore. She hadn’t meant to do it but she was glad she did. They had always had it out for each other. Both of them, head turning beauties, and sassy. But Amanda always took their scuffles too far. A guy, Ryan what’s-his-name, had gone full on flirting with her as she rang up his orders. She had flirted with him though because she couldn’t not flirt back. Truth be told, Ryan what’s-his-name was handsome and every bit her spec. But add his overinflated ego to the mix, and you’re suddenly wondering how God could create such a bastard. Guys like that make good pawns though. Massage their egos and your desires get satisfied almost immediately. Apparently, Ryan hadn’t looked once at Amanda and that had infuriated her. So, when the two of them had somehow, found themselves at the locker room at the same time. Amanda had
Clarissa trudged up the stairs of her apartment, weariness written all over her features. She barely made it inside her room before succumbing to the tiredness and slumping on her bed without taking any of her clothing. Her bags had been left right in front of the door. Sleep soon claimed her and she fell into a dreamless sleep.Or not.The night was sultry and balmy. The leaves in the trees didn’t move either because the night was so still. Even the nocturnal insects were incredibly quiet that night, crickets and all. A girl sat crossed leg just beside a little shrubbery, staring out into nothingness. Her brown hair fell down her back in waves. The little girl was eleven. She wondered how she could tell the girl’s exact age. Leaning back on her arms, she watched the clear sky. Mosquitoes bit into her skin, drawing blood and leaving bumps in their wake. She didn’t swat them away though. A door creaked open and the girl’s eyes snapped towards the direction of the sound. A man's burly
Clarissa jerked awake with a loud gasp, her hands clamping a handful of the bed sheet In a vice like grip. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, sliding down her face in trickles.Her head hurt.It felt like someone was pounding a hammer unrelentingly on her head. Bile rose to her throat and before she knew it, she was racing across her room and into the bathroom. Barely making it to the WC, she began hauling everything in her gut until there was nothing else to puke. She slid to the floor of the bathroom and leaned on the bowl of toilet, heaving. Raising the hem of her blouse, she wiped her lips of the remainder of her puke. Her mind raced a mile a minute.The dream? Memory?She was at loss of what to refer to that little revelation as. It had been real… had looked real.What else could she be missing? What other memory had Chuck made her lose? How many other lies had he fed people before he had been convicted? Temporary amnesia. They had called it temporary amnesia stemming from a
He still reeled from the kiss he had seen Clarissa and Flynn share the night before. The thought of it had him kicking an empty can by the curb. Why the hell would she let him desecrate those lush lips? He thought. The skies didn’t look as gloomy as it did the day before and the snow came down in gentle flurries. The sun hid behind the low hanging clouds. Hands In his pocket, he strolled down the bustling street of 58th avenue. He eyed Clarissa’s apartment as he walked by, taking notice of the black, tinted vehicles sitting beside the curb. FBI agents. He glared at them. he needed to do something about the amount of rage in him before he did something as stupid as barging into Clarissa’s house and blowing his cover. Another empty can flew into the air as he kicked it and the helpless can landed a few meters from him. It wasn’t unusual for him to get that much pent-up rage. But often, he’d had ways of controlling them. Now? Not so much. The police were on high alert and the slight
The moment she stepped out of the kitchen to answer that call, it sent off the wrong signals in his mind. she was hiding something.He quickly pulled out his phone from his jacket and called Agent Sawyer.‘I need you to trace a call. Clarissa’s making a really secretive call. I need to know who it is and the exact location. I’ll meet you at the station in twenty.’ He said, picking his jacket and stomped across the kitchen in all seriousness.Maybe it was jealousy or some other emotion that he couldn’t just name, but something churned in his gut. Unable to stand still in the now empty kitchen, he walked out into the dining area, past the living room and out of the door, into the chilling cold.With Veronica, it had been all sweet and fun. He couldn’t really remember them ever arguing, veronica with her mellow voice and tactfulness made it pretty easy. With Clarissa, it was just a whirlwind of emotions, highs and lows. He gritted his teeth as he crossed the road and made his way to
she glanced down at her phone and then at the house number plastered on the sign post in front of the house, a bungalow. The text on her screen and the shiny black ink on the sign read the same number, 42. She had been spooked from the very moment the text had popped up on her screen. A text from her anonymous online friend who had introduced himself as a hacker. Backtrack to the day she had met him. Not met him literally. More like met him online. Just a random pop-up notification on her Facebook app and suddenly, they were close acquaintances. Well, what was the use of having a hacker friend if they couldn’t do one or two favors for her, she thought. She had sent him the mystery guy’s pictures and seconds later, he turned up lots of information on him. when she had asked how exactly he had been able to gather that info on the guy at such a short time, he responded with, ‘We have our ways.’She had come to know the Mystery guy as Kennedy Macaulay. But her mind often referre
The door slammed as Clarissa rushed out of the car and into the shabby looking apartment complex. Very aware that the ten-floored building had a very non-functional elevator, she took the stairs two at a time, Flynn right at her heels. It was well past ten minutes so she knew Sydney had to be in her apartment, waiting already. Pushing the people crowding the staircase aside, they frantically ran up the stairs not minding the weird look people threw their way. She couldn’t tell the exact moment the feeling of impending doom crept onto her, latching onto her with its suckers. Her heart plunged into her stomach robbing her of breath for a second or two. Her head swarm, the stairs swirled. Her steps faltered and she staggered backwards. Flynn’s hands shot out to break her fall but she caught herself just In time.‘Are you alright?’ A concerned Flynn asked, grasping her elbow.‘I’m okay. I’m okay. Just a bit lightheaded. I’m okay.’ She assured. ‘I can’t seem to shake off the feelin
It was December and it was drizzling. She didn’t run to find shelter because the rain had always settled her spirits. She hailed a yellow cab and it screeched to a stop right in front of her. Behind her, Flynn watched in his car, as she walked into the cab and it zoomed off, with him right on their tail. Her mind was racing with unlikely thoughts and her heart was beating too slow to be considered normal. It was something that always signaled the onset of a panic attack. She didn’t want that, she wanted to keep a straight head. So, she focused on her breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out. She did that till her head stopped feeling like it held more thoughts than the body mass of the heaviest man on earth and a semblance of normalcy engulfed her. She reached for her phone again. Still nothing from Sydney. Heaving a loud sigh, she turned to stare out the window. The buildings raced by in a blur. The skies had turned dark already, courtesy of the awful winter. The drizzling rain ha