Not a fucking playground.
I never found joy in this, but it was what I was born and bred to do. We all were, but that doesn't mean there wasn’t a time I dreamed of getting out. I yearned to be the first person to make it out on the other side and leave this life behind.
But we don't all get what we wish for.
Reality is a hard pill to swallow. It took me years to force it down, and now this is all routine. Kill until I’m satisfied withmy earnings, set the majority of it aside, and then return to finish paperwork.
I don't think I’ve slept properly since I was an infant. I’m thirty, and feel like I'm pushing eighty with all the stress.
My hand tightens at my side just thinking about it. Without argument, I pick up my favorite photo. Addison is seated on a park bench, her head resting back against her shoulders as she lets the rays of afternoon light soak into her skin. She’s wearing a light green sundress that shows off her legs and a fair amount of her chest, but that isn't what catches my eye. It’s the small smile on her face, as if everything in the world is great and she's just basking in the riches for a moment.
She looks so…perfect.
And maybe I feel a small bit of jealousy, but it isn't because I want what she has so desperately. It’s because the sun got to touch every inch of her while I'm stuck here, staring at a fucking photo.
I let my fingers dance over her face, tracing the lines I've committed to memory, the freckles I can recount if I close my eyes, and the hours I’ve counted since I last saw her in person.
Twenty-eight hours.
And thirty-two minutes.
There’s a knock on my office door, and my heart plummets as I quickly try to shove the photos under a stack of papers. A stack of receipts falls to the floor, and my lips pull back over my teeth as I pile more folders and expense reports on top of the photos.
“Knock, knock!” Alana sings as the door flies open. At her back stands Connor, that stupid lopsided grin he always wears plastered over his features.
I brace my hands on my desk, calming my rapidly beating heart. “When I said you both needed to learn to knock, I meant wait until I say ‘Come in’ to open the door.”
Connor scoffs, walking over to my shelf of encyclopedias. He brushes his thumb over the spine, frowningat the dust that collects on his finger. “What were you doing? Jacking off?”
Shit. I forgot my monthly cleaning. They’re bound to notice that.
“Oh, she’s pretty!” Alana exclaims as she stands on the opposite side of my desk.
My head whips down, and I realize one of the photos is still fully visible. Without a word, I cram it under my computer with too much force, nearly knocking the monitor to the floor. My odd behavior doesn't go unnoticed as the couple shares a look.
“What are you here for, again?” I ask, clearing my throat.
Alana lifts a brow. “I’m here for my assignment. You said I needed to erase some records.”
I forgot I called them earlier.
Where is my head right now?
Addison.
And it shouldn't be.
“Right,” I mutter, shuffling through the disorganized mess I created while trying to hide my biggest secret. I'm usually methodical, so this appearance is definitely suspicious for me.
Connor props his hip against my desk while Alana takes the chair across from me. She pats her knee, then sits forward and places her elbows on the flat top. “Okay, spill! Who’s the brunette?”
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
My jaw grinds. “No one.”
As I move a stack, more photos slip out, and I cram them under the monitor, too.
“Doesn’t seem likeno one.” Connor smirks.
