Like mercy, good manners were overrated.
I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of her humiliation. It was just my luck that when I did, she glanced straight at me, giving me the perfect shot.
After I got it, I slipped back into the shadows, where I preferred to stay.
She shook her head, as if she’d imagined my stare, and hauled her suitcase up the steps. After a few steps, she stopped to shake out the ache from her hand. She had a good twenty more steps to go before reaching the vestibule.
I opened the photo and increased the screen’s brightness. Her features were grainy and pixelated. Dark hair clung to her wet cheeks, and a loose blazer hid her shape.
The night and my phone’s shitty resolution blurred everything else about her.
I sent the photo to Nico before texting him, my fingers moving across the screen furiously.
Me: New girl.
Me: Find out who she is.
Me: NOW.
It took him less than thirty seconds to reply.
Faster than it took her to climb the next step.
Nico: That’s a shit picture, Zo.
Me: I don’t give two fucks if it’s a stick figure. Find out who she is.
Nico: I’m in the middle of something.
Me: I’m about to be in the middle of slitting your fucking throat.
Nico:
I pocketed my phone, knowing he’d do as I instructed.
I wasn’t a rescuer of strays, and I enjoyed kicking people when they were down. If I were honest, which I rarely was, I liked kicking them until they were six feet under.
I decided right then that she was it.
My Fawn.
My chosen for the year.
She was almost at the top step when my phone buzzed again.
Nico: Blair Dupont.
Me: How’d you figure that out so fast?
Nico: The chick sucking my cock told me.
I blinked raindrops from my eyelashes.
Nico: I can tell you’re interested …
Since he didn’t know how to complete fucking sentences, I didn’t reply.
Like a stage-five cling-on, he texted me again.
