PRINCESS CALEB

Startled, I jump away from what I now know is a screen wall, not the harmless thing we all thought it was. But if I’m being honest with myself– that doesn’t happen often– I’d say those eyes were the reason I jumped back.

And not just because they appeared so suddenly.

That too.

But it’s more the intensity of the eyes, the way they looked right at me, like they’d been watching me the entire time.

Another shiver zips along my spine.

Was that what I felt? Those green eyes watching me?

I swallow, getting my breathing under control with my palm pressed against my chest. Feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, like the person on the other side was watching me have a mini freak out.

 I smoothen my shirt and straighten my posture before returning to the wall, putting my hands up, I see clearly now that I’m sure there’s something right there.

There’s a large table, behind it a stiff chair, I can’t make out the colors of anything because the light in there is dim.

 And nothing else.

Literally nothing else.

If it was an office, you’d expect cabinets, like mine back at the agency, it’s more a cubicle than an office, but once I crack this case, I’ll have my own personal office with a desk that looks like–

 Wait.

There’s no sign of green anywhere. There’s nobody in the room. My gaze swings towards the door of the office, it’s firmly shut. The owner of the green eyes must have left during my freak out.

 Dang it.

With an exhale, I drop back down, losing interest in the room now that green eyes isn’t in there anymore.

I wonder who it is, an executive checking the trainees? It’s not like we’d affect the stock market as we are now. Maybe it’s just what they have to do here.

 They didn’t have to hide behind a wall to do that though.

The door creaking open reminds me that I’m the only one whose name hasn’t been called, and others have met their trainers.

 I watch with wide eyes, hoping my trainer is behind the door.

The woman with the trolley returns for the tea cups, not sparing a glance my way. I open my mouth and shut it countless times, hesitating with the question on the tip of my tongue.

 She shuffles out of the room and I groan in exasperation.

Throwing myself back in my seat, searching for the overhead speakers, I find it and glare pointedly.

I don’t remember the last time I actively waited for something while doing nothing. Usually, I did some other chore to keep my mind busy. Like if I was running a load of laundry, best believe I’ll be washing the bathroom floors.

 I’m not sure how many minutes go by with just glaring at the speakers– not a single crackle come through them by the way.

 The idea to leave the waiting room makes me jump to my feet. Trisha never said we couldn’t go out without hearing our names. Besides, this could be a great opportunity to wander, gather Intel, be a great agent. I pat myself on the back for my reasoning.

 The door gives under my touch, the long hallway empty.

Swinging my head this way and that, the coast is clear. I start moving straight. There are other doors with numbers above them, all of them have dull music coming from under.

 “The guys and their trainers.” I murmur. A sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach.

Did my trainer decide they didn’t want me after all? Did they take one look at me and think I have no talent?

 My throat thickens.

What next?

Trisha never said what would happen in the occasion that your trainer wanted nothing to do with you.

  My feet carries me to the end of the hallway, and there’s nothing. It’s the end and a wall.

I didn’t expect that they’d have a picture of The Devil hanging around, I mean, he is the owner of the playground, and a notorious serial killer.

 But it wouldn’t hurt. After all, just the CIA know that The Devil is behind the serial killing happening all over Brighton Falls and neighboring cities.

The Playground could just hang his photos up because they are proud of their owner, and we’ll get this over with.

 As sad as it sounds, nobody knows what The Devil looks like. Nobody. I’m sure there are people who do, obviously, he’s not a ghost. But we have no clue who his inner circle is.

 Like we already established, this case is larger than I am, and it’s just sheer luck that I’m on it. But I’ll make my mark, rise up the ranks, and–

 “Top Dog?”

I jump.

I know what you’re thinking, for an agent, I scare too easy. But I was lost in my head okay?

 Trisha is frowning at me, and I’ve never been more grateful to see anybody like I do now.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Trish, can I call you Trish?”

She gives a slow nod, still looking at me like she thinks I’ve lost it.

 “I think something is wrong with the PA system, and I’m afraid my trainer would think I’ve ghosted him or her. I haven’t. My name simply hasn’t been announced yet.” I say this in a rush, hoping to distract her from the fact that I went snooping.

 She presses her lips into a thin line before glancing behind me again.

I fight the urge to inspect the wall. Is that also a false wall? Shit. I should have thought of that.

“You shouldn’t have left the waiting room.”

“I also had to pee.” Last ditch effort with a smile and she exhales.

She apologizes for not giving us the directions to the urinals before pointing it out to me. This time, I check the bathroom walls– I don’t touch them, it’s expensive and smells rich, but it’s still a public bathroom.

 There are just walls.

Trisha leads the way to the waiting room, sounds float out from other rooms, reminding me of my predicament.

 “Mr. Doherty,” she starts, the absence of the new nickname makes my heart race. I sit up immediately.

“Nobody wanted me?”

“What? No.” she pins me with a look and I shut my mouth quickly.

“Your trainer has asked me to tell you he isn’t coming in today, and he’ll see you tomorrow.”

The fuck?

I don’t say anything, giving her the chance to say sike or something. She doesn’t. Her expression is neutral.

 “The bus will take everyone home at once, sit here and wait.”

And then she’s gone.

Sit here and wait? Like I’m some dog?? Like hell I’ll sit here and fucking wait.

I can’t believe it. My trainer, whoever the fuck he is, didn’t even have the decency to apologize or explain why he couldn’t make it. I just have to sit here and fucking wait??

 I try the door, it doesn’t open.

A shocked gasp falls out of me as I stare open mouthed at the door keeping me in.

 I’m locked in. I try again. It remains locked.

I pace the short length of the room, my mind racing. We don’t have our phones today as well, we dropped it off in the party bus.

 Nobody knows where I am.

Anger, red hot spurts of it curls around my spine, I pull the door open again, this time it gives.

 I stumble in when the four of them pour in. My friends.

“What… aren’t you with your trainers?” I ask, wide eyed, anger temporarily forgotten.

They all share a look of excitement. I can’t help the twinge of jealousy at the pit of my stomach.

 “We got off early today, the real work starts tomorrow. Didn’t your trainer tell you that?” Lawrence asks.

I don’t answer. They leave me alone the whole of the bus ride back.

 When I suggest drinking, none of them argue, might be my mood. I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t drink again. But I’m angry and frustrated, okay?

 The guys take me home and I’m on my bed again, drifting off when I hear that deep gravelly voice scraping the pits of my stomach, speak.

 “You’re not very patient for a top dog.”

This time I know it’s a shadow, a shadowy cloud, even in my drunk mind, I see it. I know it. Especially the green hue shining in there.

 The touch escalates. It’s hot on my skin, so hot that I’m half mast.

“Do you want me to touch you, Princess?”

I figure this has to be an alcohol induced dream, so I go with it.

 “You didn’t need my permission to start.” I rasp.

The hand climbs up my thigh, my inner thighs and I’m losing my mind. I start to chase the hand.

 “Don’t you dare call me Princess.” I spit.

The hand massages my flesh, each touch turning me feral, all of a sudden the hand pulls away. I moan at the loss of contact.

 “If you want me to touch you, Princess.” the voice, the sexy ass voice starts.

“You have to beg me.”