“Ilost it.”
I open one eye then the other, hearing the uncharacteristically grumpy voice of my chirpy cricket as she walks in, slamming the door behind her.
She doesn’t even bother to be quiet. She knows Dad isn’t home because his car’s not out front, and we spend so much time at each others’ places that she comes into my room like it’s hers.
Which it is, because there isn’t a thing on this Earth that I own that she doesn’t share.
Right now, though, she’s not looking particularly happy about any of that as she stomps across the room and stops before me, her arms crossed, breathing heavily as she glares at me.
I pat the mattress next to me, hoping she’ll just… sit down and let it go. I’ve never seen anyone let things go as easily as Piper does, though I guess letting things go is a necessary quality to have when you spend any time with me.
Today, though, I have a feeling she’s not letting whatever it is go. I also have a feeling I know just what that thing is.
I groan inwardly. I’ve had a pretty hardcore morning, and I donotfeel like dealing with shit or even moving.
Last night, I fucked up my contract for the first time. It’s not even the tenth one, and I’ve already got a black mark on my name. I really fucking hate that. I never thought I cared about the soldiers, I just thought I found some relief in the actualkilling part, but seeing the way Tragen looked at me after the fuck-up felt pretty shitty.
It made me want to go back in time to change the outcome of that contract just to wipe that disappointed look off his face.
I’m also pissed at Aaron, who was leading our team of three, for fucking up, because it was definitely his fault. It’s my first year working, which means I get teamed up with older guys for every kill, and barely make five grand on contracts that I know are worth ten times more. I was stuck with Aaron, the biggest fucking idiot on the planet, who never even lets me pull the trigger when we’re teamed up.
By now all the others I’ve teamed up with have figured out I need to be the one to pull the trigger. Both because I’m the best shot by far, and because I don’t feel an ounce of guilt after.
But Aaron insisted that as the leader, it was his job. He gave me a long self-important speech, and then, when it came time to do the deed, he froze.
He hadn’t even wanted me to carry a gun, so I couldn’t do a thing but watch our contract squawk like a fucking chicken and flap his arms in fear, before scampering off. He had to be hunted down by a group of five men the next day, all because my fucking team leader nearly shit his pants at the thought of taking a human life.
He’d done it dozens of times, so how the hell did it suddenly become a problem last night? Tragen told me, right after putting a bullet in Aaron’s skull, that it does happen occasionally. You get some sort of mental block that prevents you from doing your job. Like a burn-out.
He punctuated his sentence by putting a bullet in the other guy’s skull. The second-in-command of our team whodidcarry a gun, but who didn’t do a thing but watch Aaron fuck up, shock written all over his features.
I fully expected Tragen to do the same to me, killing the trioresponsible for making the higher-ups get off their asses and finish off the contract themselves. But instead, he beat the shit out of me then let me go.
“Do better next time, soldier,” he barked.
It wasn’t the killing off of my team members that did it for me, or the beating. It was Tragen’s eyes. Fuck me, it makes no sense, because I don’t give a shit about him.
But Idon’twant him to look at me like that, not ever.
I don’t want to let him down again.
I wince as Piper nudges me roughly, still huffing. “Isaid, why the hell did you send them that?”
Oh. She’s been keeping up such a steady stream of words that I never even heard her question the first time. She’s surprisingly easy to tune out. I used to find her voice grating, but these days, it relaxes me and makes me happy.
I do try to listen most of the time, because I want to care about the things she cares about. But I also have the bad habit of letting her voice wash over me, lulling me into a peaceful state of mind.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” I grunt, patting the mattress beside me again.
I don’t want her to see the bruises on my chest and sides, but I do want to feel her lying beside me, her arm circling me. I know that’s all I would need to feel better, but right now, she’s clearly not in a cuddling mood.
“Turns out,” she snaps, “theywouldn’thave let me keep my scholarship if I took a gap year. Butsomeonewrote to them saying I had decided to take it, so they revoked it! I’m not getting it back!”
“Oh, that.” I’m rubbing the mattress beside me in a robotic way, knowing she won’t sit there because she’s pissed, but feeling unable to keep from touching it. I always get those weird compulsions around her. To touch objects, to count in threes, to spank her. To feel my arms around her, my fingers inside her,reassured that I own her, that she’s mine.
That she’s not going anywhere.
