Page 4 of Trick me. Treat me

You provided an address when you registered for StudentWork.

Did I? I try to remember. I signed up almost three years ago, so maybe I did. For tax information or identity or something. That has to be it. Maybe they’ve been giving my address to employers all along and it’s just not been mentioned.

Me

Right. Sorry. I forgot. Lol.

I hate the lol as soon as I send it. It makes me sound stupid and nervous. I am nervous. But these complete strangers don’t need to know that.

Unknown

Don’t apologise.

We’ll take good care of you, Violet.

My stomach flips, a mixture of fear and butterflies which I don’t understand. We. I mean… yeah. It’s probably a couple who are going out of town for the night for halloween. Duh. I hate my anxious little brain sometimes. I’m an avid horror movie watcher and gamer, yet my brain gets terrified of everything. It’s stupid really.

My phone vibrates, pulling me out of my spiral.

Unknown

Don’t be late.

A strange little shiver runs through me. I probably should have cancelled. I probably still should. Instead, I save the picture of Mr. Pickles to my phone and place a reminder in my calendar for Saturday the 31st of October.

Chapter Two

Violet

At exactly four p.m. on Halloween, a black SUV pulls up outside my apartment.

I stare down at it from my window, clutching the curtain between two fingers. I can’t see inside because the windows are tinted. Obviously. Nothing screams murder vehicle like a massive black car with tinted windows. Guess it could be worse. It could be a windowless white van…

A man climbs out of the driver’s side wearing an entirely black suit.

“Oh, come on.” I mutter, letting the curtain fall. I press both hands over my face, exhaling slowly.

This is weird. Big fancy car and a man in a suit so I can go watch a freaking cat?

I don’t have to go. That’s the important thing to remember here. I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman with free will, basic survival instincts and absolutely no legal obligation to climb into the murder-mobile currently idling outside my building. I could stay right here. Lock my door, order noodles with the very little money in my bank account, and watch horror movies whilst painting. All whilst remaining perfectly alive and safe.

My phone vibrates and I peek through my fingers at the screen.

Unknown

Your driver is waiting.

Don’t be late, Violet.

That stupid little shiver happens again. I scowl at my phone, finally coming to the understanding that there is something fundamentally wrong with me.

I quickly snap a photo of the car before heading over to grab the overnight bag sitting beside my bed, stuffed with all the stuff I thought I’d need. Toiletries, charger, sweatshirt. My sketchbook and pencils because I never go anywhere without them. And the Halloween pyjamas I bought last month and haven’t had any excuse to wear yet—tiny black shorts covered in little orange pumpkins, ghosts, bats and stars, with a matching strappy top.

I hesitate for a second… I’m missing something. Ah. I swipe up my pepper spray and shove it into the front pocket. There. Safety. I’m sure that tiny pink canister will be incredibly useful against the serial-killing millionaire who apparently owns a cat named Mr. Pickles.

I pull my long hair from beneath the strap of my bag and check myself in the mirror by the door. Black leggings, oversized grey college sweatshirt and sneakers. Nothing exciting. My cheeks are already pink from the anxiety, making the dimples either side of my mouth more obvious when I nervously press my lips together.

“You’re watching a cat.” I point at myself. “For five hundred dollars. People do this everyday.”