7)

The day goes by so painfully slow. Our group is paired with the one Jared’s in and all I can think about, breathe in, is the little slag draping herself on Jared like a fur coat. The thought of shooting and skinning her cane through my mind a couple times. Except instead of a coat, I would turn her into a rug so I could trample her and then take her outside and beat her with a stick.

And Aidan was nothing but friendly with me the whole day. At dinner we sat across from each other at the 2 seater table. The exercise is to get to know your trip partner better seeing as we’re spending the next 2 days together.

“How’s your cheek doing?” He asks while sipping his milkshake. “I can barley see it.”

“The power of makeup.” I smirk. “What about you? How are your buckles doing?”

“Fine.” He flexes his fingers. “All healed.”

“Good.” I smile but it must not reach my eyes.

“What actually happened with your cheek? You also had something going on on your side. What happened?”

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that question.” I give him a tight smile and sip my virgin mojito.

“We’re supposed to get to know each other better right?”

“Then why did you punch Jared?”

“How did you know?”

“A blind person could’ve seen. It was rather obvious how fresh it was, you must have done it outside the hospital. Because the cut from your ring on his jaw was still streaming blood.”

“If I tell you, you’ll tell me?”

“Yes.” He looks at me for a moment, evaluating.

“Fine.” He takes a breath and leans forward. “Chiara was worried about you. She thought you might head to the hospital after she was at your house. So Jared and I went, just incase you were in worse shape at the hospital so Chiara didn’t have to see that. We didn’t want to rat Chiara out to you, so I punched Jared so we’d have a legitimate reason to be in the hospital and check on you.”

“My mother threw a picture frame at me. The glass shattered on my cheek and sliced me. As for my side, she threw a vase at me. It hit the wall right next to me and some of the glass pierced me.”

“What’s going on there?”

“She’s an alcoholic and a drug addict. She just come home from an OD incident. She’s not very nice when she’s conscious. Especially when she’s half sober. I prefer when she’s high off her rockers. Then she pays me no attention.”

“And your dad?”

“That…” I take a sip of my drink wishing more than anything that it was real, “Is a story for another time.”

“Can I ask you more about your mom?”

“Only if you tell me something else about you, something equal to what you want to know from me.”

“No judgement?” He leans back in his chair.

“Never.” So do I. “And I won’t make any comments either.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

“My dad has stage 4 cancer. And I’m so scared whenever my mom phones me that it’s the call. That he’s gone.” He looks at me almost expecting me to judge him. Waiting from me to say something.

“If you you’re scared of picking up the phone, you can give it to me and I’ll do it. I’ve never been weary of bad news.”

“Thanks.”

“What questions do you have? I’d say that confession is worth 2 or 3.”

“What does your mother do for a living? You guys live a luxurious life.”

“Nothing. I work.”

“What do you do?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“It’s one of the things I choose to keep to myself. A secret I enjoy holding. The only dregs of power I can actually hold onto.”

“Is it illegal?”

“Not everywhere.”

“Why did you move here?”

“It’s a quite town on a new continent. It’ll help me get into university. Not that I need the help. It just helps with recognition.”

“Why did you move to this continent.”

“That falls under the dad conversation and no matter how many confessions you make, I’m not telling you that story. At least not tonight.”

“I’m petrified that one day Danika is going to wake up and realise she doesn’t love me and leave me.”

“I’m petrified that I’m getting to attached to you all. And it’s going to hurt when I have to leave.”

“I think I got a girl pregnant. I’m scared to ask her incase it’s true. I don’t know how I’ll tell Danika. What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?”

“I had to be a prostitute when I was 14 so that I didn’t starve to death. When I was doing that I got caught up in some… shadey shit. One night I was at the club and I was playing cards. I cheated and I won close to a million pounds. No one noticed my cheating because I was clever about it. Everyone at that table was smart. We were all on the same intellectual level that I saw nothing wrong in stealing their money. They could have one on pure wit alone. I could’ve one on pure wit alone. But I wasn’t going to risk it. I… doesn’t matter. What matters is that one of the men got angry. He accused me of cheating but couldn’t prove anything. Because of that he got angry. I’ve never seen anyone that angry. Angry to the point where they don’t look humane. And he lunge across the table at me. He choked me. He was trying and… succeeding in killing me. I remember looking and his eyes were dead, not even a spark, a glisten, nothing. All I wanted was to feel that way. To feel nothing. Switch my emotions off. Because I was terrified. I was so scared of dying in that moment. But looking back I think I wasn’t so scared of dying as I was of being killed by something not human. The inequality of it all. Of a muscled 25 year old, full grown man filled with undiluted rage, overpowering an underfed, scrawny, unarmed 14 year old girl.

“But I didn’t die. I wasn’t killed. Some of the guards at the club managed to pull him off me. He was kicked out. But as he left, he turned around

And he shot me.

And in that moment I wasn’t scared of death. He won. Fare and square. He won by shooting me. There was nothing unfair in that moment.

I had already accepted my fate. But something above wanted me to live. Because that bullet missed my heart by 3 millimetres. And I met the only person I considered family on that day.

That day catapulted the rest of my life.

So alls well that ends well I suppose.”

“Shit.” He looks at me with… pity?

“No judgement, remember?”

“Not judgement. Awe.” I raise my glass at his words with a feeble smile. “I wish I could here every story of your life.”

“That would take about 3 days. And if I’m being honest I don’t remember most of the interesting stuff.”

“Why?” He looks confused.

“I inherited that nasty little alcoholic gene from my mother. I was sober for almost 2 years before I took that drink at Danika’s party. Worst possible thing I could’ve done. I spent the rest of the night forcing myself to dance so I wouldn’t pick up a bottle.”

“That’s…”

“Adult shit.” I finish for him.

“Yup. That’s real life shit.” He sighs. “If you ever need anyone to help with it, I’m more grown up than I look.”

“Thanks. But I can’t put that on you, on anyone.”

“Of course you can. That’s what friends are for.”

“No. You don’t drag your friends into the depthless pits of hell.”

“Then we don’t have to be friends. We can be hell buddies.”

“What… so I’ll help you deal with your shot and you’ll help me deal with mine?”

“Pretty much.”

“I don’t think that’s a deal you want to make. My shits pretty heavy.”

He spits on his hand. “I, Aidan Gabriels, will be your hell buddy, Freya Hanning. For worse or the worst.”

I spit on my hand and shake his. “And I, Freya Hanning, will be your hell buddy, Aidan Gabriels. To the depths of darkness and back.”