Like clockwork, he crosses towards us. Andrews turns the ignition off.
“Goodbye, Lucy.” He smiles at me, reassuring, strong, protective.
I never thought I’d be seen again, not after Owen. Not after feeling so invisible. But Andrews sees me.
Sees my potential. Sees my skill. Sees my demons. One of which is currently taking a piss at the top of the alley.
I open the car door and step out. My boots land in a puddle, but I don’t care. My focus is solely on him. I pull out the knife as I walk towards him.
Andrews turns on the headlights.
James throws his arm up to shield his eyes from the bright light. “Hey, what the fuck, man?”
I step closer. He can’t see me, not with the light temporarily blinding him.
I stop in front of him, my heartbeat still steady.
“Hello, James.”
“Y-You,” he says, seeing the knife.
I lunge.
He dodges.
I don’t miss.
My knife sinks into his stomach. I pull it out as his eyes widen in surprise and fear. He grips his gut, but I plunge my knife in again, and again, and again.
Blood coats my hand. It’s sticky, it’s thick, it’s so, so red.
He falls to the floor, falling into his own piss, which mixes with the blood.
I spit on his dead body, and glance back at the car where Andrews is watching with a smirk on his face.
He turns off the headlights, and darkness swallows me whole.
42
Kara - Present
Owen’sinthekitchenwith Maria making tea and getting the first aid kit. Because tea fixes everything, obviously.
Tea can’t fix shit.
Maria hasn’t asked how I hurt my arm, or why we are both filthy and covered in blood, or what we are doing here.
I’m not sure whether Owen has told her not to, or she’s savvier than I give her credit for, sensing that I wouldn’t be here unless I really had to be.
I walk round her small living room, homely and warm, with trinkets and photos of our childhood. We are both still very much a part of her life, even if she isn’t part of mine.
Pausing at a photo and pick it up, it’s of Maria and Owen, a recent one of them standing on the same beach we used to go to as kids.
There’s that feeling again. That bitter taste in the back of my throat. That flutter in my stomach.
Fucking jealousy.
Shaking my head, putting the photo back as Maria comes into the living room with a tray of tea and biscuits on a plate.
