I can’t say I understand the point of security then?
But I’m not exactly ‘people’ so no, no questions here.
Thankfully, the boarding of the guests goes smoothly after that, and before the party begins, the ship breaks away from the harbour and the guests linger to watch the sight.
When the mingling begins, Camille is the centre of attention, drawing everyone's gazes, both critical and congratulatory.
I’m sure to stay on the outer edge of the deck as I do my rounds, but onceor twice a guest glances at me, and I nod my head in greeting.
Compared to most of the missions I’d followed Christian on, it’s a quiet job. It’s kind of... nice, and for a moment, I allow myself to be swept up by it—the elegance, the decorations and fancy clothes. The wine glasses and pool games, the sound of the waves and the rocking of the tide, the quiet stream of laughter over soft music... It sucks me back to a past where people were only figures on a screen.
In a world where there was no such thing as beauty or laughter—colour or connection.
1,323 days. And finally I’m a part of it. Finally, I’m not the one looking in from the outside—
The light joy in my chest is immediately extinguished by a sharp and painful reminder.
I only exist right now for Christian.
I’m not here to play around in Christian’s body or dig myself too deep into any of these new connections.
This life isn’t mine.
But maybe…after... maybe I won’t have to sleep on the curb anymore.
Maybe I won't have to steal food, or make my bed in the dark and the rain, or go back to watching from theoutside.
Maybe I’ll have learned enough to become something of my own.
“Never thought I'd see one of Reuben’s men zoning out on the job.” A small voice breaks me out of my thoughts, feathery and melodic, and my eyes are pulled towards a woman's bright brown eyes.
She's my height with lush lips and freckles across her cheeks, and her long black hair is woven together to fall across her chest. I'm not used to beauty standards, but even I can tell she's adorable.
Maybe that's why she has a tattoo snaking up her chest—a skeleton’s fingers cupping her throat.
“… I'm not,” I say finally.
She hums, but there's a gentleness to her eyes as she places a round glass in my hands, filled with brown liquid. “Well, you should. You look like you need a drink.”
“Why would I need a drink?”
Her eyes soften, and her next words are quiet, “You looked like you were remembering something painful.”
I’m opening my mouth to refuse her but memories of rainy alleyways and cold pavements are still close to the surface. My mouth closes soundlessly.
“If Reuben spots me with this in my hand I'm as good as dead,” I mumble but the mysterious beauty only smiles cheekily.
“Then take a quick swig, silly. I won't tell. Hurry up before he really comes over.”
I’m sure there's a rule somewhere about accepting drinks from strangers, but one moment I'm eyeing the glass suspiciously and the next, I'm bringing it to my lips quickly, before my bravery runs out. I'm not sure what's come over me—maybe those lonely memories resurfaced a bit too close to my heart.
The moment I swallow my stolen sip, my face contorts and all I feel is regret.
“Fuck. What is that?” It tastes like—like—I don't even know. It's bitter. Sour? Fiery?
Why would they make drinks fiery?
The lady who I'm certain just made an attempt on my life is giggling at my reaction, “It’s a dirty viper.”
