by Jack Parker
He made his way to the parking lot, inwardly praying that she would just follow. She did. Seb's car was parked in the corner but it wasn't that hard to find. He had sent a text to Seb on his way down to tell him that he was borrowing his car and he hoped that he wouldn't mind.
They entered. She sat in the passenger seat, her arms folded. "Where are you taking me?"
He was surprised that she hadn't put up much of a fight. "Wait."
"No, tell me. Or else I'm getting out of this car, now."
He grinned sheepishly. This was so stupid. He understood why she was acting bitchy, they had just had a fight and he was acting as if nothing had happened, but it would have been helpful if she had at least tried to be civil. "I can't."
And before she could reply, they were off.
The sky was red.
Lia brushed some hair from before her eyes, then kicked. The swing rose higher, then fell, then rose again. The cool wind brushed against her bare legs, sending goose pimples creeping over her flesh. She slowed down and stopped, then rubbed her legs together.
She didn't understand why Lacey had insisted that she wear the skirt straight away. She bowed her head; a curtain of hair fell over her face. She began to swing slowly, then looked up as she heard a noise.
He was standing against the fence, his hands dug into his pockets. His hair looked richer, darker, beneath the sun's orange light. The fence's shadows sent crisscrossing patterns over his arms. He was wearing a tank top, she noticed.
"Hey," she said chirpily.
"Aren't you a bit old for that?" His voice sounded softer; it was as if he was blending into the sky, the atmosphere –everything looked, felt, so soft.
She stuck out her tongue and kicked, causing the swing to rise again. Her hair blew into her face. "You're never too old to have fun."
He was silent as she continued to swing. She wondered why. She stopped. He was watching her, but his expression was unreadable.
She blinked. "Do I have something in my eye?"
"We went over this conversation this morning."
She smiled. "We did, didn't we? That's such a coincidence."
She was sure that he was rolling his eyes.
After a few more moments, he commented. "You're not going that high."
She kicked harder. He was right, she wasn't. She hadn't been on a swing in years. But how could you get out of practice on something as simple as that?
"I'm not."
He watched her bemusedly for a few more moments. The silence was unnerving. Why didn't he just say something?
He pushed himself up from the fence, then made his way towards her. She could hear the crunching of leaves. They looked red beneath the wavering light and the ground looked dark and shadowed. He leaned against the post of the swing.
He cocked his head to the side, the corner of his lips tugging into a grin. "You're still not going that high."
She continued to kick. Her hair kept blowing into her face. This was all thanks to Lacey and her stupid ideas.
"If you tie it back it'll put a kink in your hair, then what will be the point of me straightening it?"
"What was the point of you straightening it?"
Lacey frowned. "Stop talking, Lia."
"It's because of the hair. And the hair is Lacey's fault," she retorted.
He laughed. She couldn't help but stop and watch. It was just so weird to see Cal of all people laugh and although she had already seen him do it once, she was sure that it was something rare. She watched as the corners of his eyes creased. It was cute.
He stopped laughing and their gazes met. He had caught her looking. He raised an eyebrow. She averted her gaze and kicked again.
Stupid Cal
"Do you want me to push you?"
"I can push myself, thank you very much," she replied indignantly.
"I'm sure," he commented dryly.
"I doubt that you could get me any higher than I'm already going."
Cal shrugged. "I probably can."
She turned her gaze towards him. He was watching her coolly. There was a challenge in his eyes.
She sighed. "Fine, then. Let's see if you can make me go higher than I already am."
"And what happens if I can?"
Lia slowed down and absently swung her legs. "You carry the satisfaction of knowing that you won and vice versa."
"Good enough."
"It better be."
He made his way towards her and took his hands out of his pockets. He stopped when he was behind her. She tightened her grip on the ropes of the swing. He placed his hands just above hers, then bent down so that his lips were just beside her ear.
"Ready?"he whispered.
She tossed back her hair, making sure that it hit his face. "More ready than I'll ever be."
His hands fell further down the ropes so that they were resting over hers. "For moral support," he commented.
"I don't need you to hold my hand. I'm not a little kid."
He clicked his tongue and began to step back, pulling the swing along with him. He was going pretty far back. She tightened her grip over the ropes once again. By the time that he stopped, the swing was at an uncomfortable angle.
She could feel his grin on her back. "Boom."
And then he let go.
The swing hurtled forward, then fell back. He pushed with an almighty force. The wind lashed against her cheeks; it was going really fast. He pushed again. She had never been this high before. A few more inches and she'd be level with the bar.
Lia grimaced. She hated heights and it was going so fast. She could feel her stomach churn.
"Scared of heights?" his voice rang through the silence.
"No," she lied. Well, she wasn't technically scared of heights. But that didn't mean that she was okay with them, either.
"You don't sound too sure." He sounded so full of himself.
"Asshole." Even the swear sounded panicky.
Some hair lashed against her cheeks and hit into her eye, causing them to water. Her stomach was turning over. It was going so fast that everything was going by in a blur. She hadn't even known that a swing could go this fast, let alone this high.
"Stop the swing! I get your fucking point!" She felt like she was about to fall off. Her hands were burning from holding on too tight.
His laughter was light. He stopped pushing, but the swing continued to sway forward and back. It would take a while for it to fully slow down. She closed her eyes. She was never going to go on a swing again.
She felt his arms wrap around her waist, causing the swing to still slightly. Lia opened her eyes. His grip tightened causing the swing to come to a complete standstill. He bent down so that his face was in her hair.
"I win," he whispered.
His arms remained around her waist.
"You did," she replied levelly. She bowed her head, causing a curtain of hair to fall over her face. The contact was unnerving.
He unwrapped one of his arms from her waist, then brushed her hair away with his free hand. "You look pretty with your hair like that. You should do it more often."
Lia swung her legs. What was she meant to say to that?
He unwrapped his second arm from her waist, then stepped back. It felt hot where he had touched her. She got up and ran a hand through her hair. He was already by the gate.
He cocked his head to the side. "Shall we be leaving?"
She smiled. "Yeah."
He smiled back.
She was sure that that was something rare, too.
* * *
It was sunset by the time they reached there. Melan was annoyed, he could tell. He had never forced a girl to go anywhere before, so it was a new experience for him.
"You asshole. Who the hell do you think you are just dragging me to god knows where without even asking me?"
He had thought it was romantic.
Jack got out of the car; Melan followed.
He shuffled his feet. "It's a nice place," he replied s
heepishly.
She looked around and made her way towards the bridge. She leaned against the railing. The sky was a rich shade of red mixed with a tinge of orange. He was never that into scenery, but he loved sunsets. They were relaxing.
The orange light shone in her hair. She turned her head. "Why did you bring me here?" Her voice was softer now. She was no longer fiery.
He made his way towards her and propped his elbows against the railing. Thick torrents of water lashed against the rocks, unleashing their rampant inferno, then diminishing before being replaced by more waves. He loved it here. It was so peaceful, so calm, yet it held a harsh quality: something harder, more concrete, more realistic. It was like watching a battle, a never ending battle of the waters.
"I wanted to ask you something." This place made him feel more confident, freer. He felt like the water, fast, exhilarated, and he could taste the cold salty air as it washed through his nostrils.
She didn't reply. She was waiting for him to continue. But he couldn't just ask her straight out; he had to apologize first.
"But first I want to say that I'm sorry for this morning."
"Okay." She didn't apologize back, he noticed. He decided to let it go.
He shuffled his feet. The sooner he got this done and over with, the better. "There's a ball in a couple of weeks and all the Sector Heads are meant to go. And I was wondering –" Here it goes "–will you go with me?"
"Like your date?" she asked slowly.
He nodded. "Um, yeah."
She turned to face him. Her expression was fiery again. "Is that why you 'oh so conveniently' decided to apologize before hand? Just so that I'd say yes?"
He blinked. What? "No."
"That is so cheap," she bit. "Only apologize if you actually mean it."
He was getting angry now. Why couldn't they just have a nice, happy conversation? "What more do you want from me?"
She shrugged. "I want you to trust me."
"I do trust you," he replied.
"No, you don't."
He scuffed the tarmac with the sole of his trainer. "This is about this morning, isn't it? Will you be satisfied if I just tell you?"
She grinned. Her face lit up.
Women were so evil.
"Yes."
He scratched the back of his neck nervously. She was watching him expectantly. How was he meant to begin?
"When I was twelve, my parents were shot." He made sure to keep his voice placid, devoid of any emotion.
She looked shocked. He quickly continued, before she could say anything. He didn't want her pity; he hated it when people pitied him. When hearing that sort of news, no one ever knew what the right thing was to say and they would always end up saying something that would annoy him. He wasn't going to give her the chance to do that.
"I'm not going into details about what happened next. The main point is that this guy called Seb helped me out and I was adopted by a guy called Joseph Harlton. I was enrolled in a new school when I turned fourteen." He bit his bottom lip; the next bit was going to be hard. "In the year above me there was this girl, one of the most popular girls in the year. She was from the Gredge. Perfect black hair and stark white skin, like snow –she was gorgeous." He let out a dry laugh. "And she wanted me."
He cast his gaze back towards Melan. She was leaning against the railing, her arms folded and her head tilted slightly to the side. Her expression was unreadable. She had already made presumptions about him the first time they had met, and by telling her all of this he was just proving her right.
Was this just some kind of affirmation to her that all guys were scum? That he was scum?
He continued. "She lived with her parents, obviously, seeing as she was only fifteen. Her parents used to work, both of them. She used to invite me over to her house every day after school and we used to get it on her sofa."
Melan's expression turned to one of disgust. "Her sofa?"
He shook his head, realizing his mistake. "We never had sex."
Melan raised an eyebrow. "I never said that you did."
"Well, we didn't."
Why did he feel like he had to justify himself to her?
"Carry on with the story."
He shuffled his feet. "One day, her parents came home early and caught us." He bit his lip. "She said that I had been trying to rape her." He wished that she hadn't made him tell her. He didn't like thinking about it, at all. It was embarrassing.
"Jessica Coles did the exact same thing," she stated.
The comment stung him. "Yeah. That's what she meant in the text message."
You'd think you'd learn from your mistakes
She ran a hand through her hair. "I guess I'll go with you, since you did tell me and all." She made her way back to the car. She said it as if she was doing him some big favor.
He leaned against the railing and listened as the waves crashed before him.
He was no longer a loser.
And it felt good.
* * *
"When is it?" Lia bit her bottom lip.
Cal regarded Michael placidly.
"You have a couple of weeks to prepare," replied Michael.
"That's not that long," said Lia annoyed. Michael expected too much. How were they meant to do a mission properly with only two weeks to prepare?
"Tough." Michael got up and threw her a folder.
She held out her hands to catch it, but Cal beat her to it. He grinned at her with triumph. She rolled her eyes.
"There's a ball to welcome Kayden Porter. The details are in the folder," added Michael.
"And our mission?" asked Cal.
"Your mission… assassinate Arthur Fallock."
CHAPTER 14
She fingered the silk. It was red, a soft ruby red.
The room was shadowed, shrouded in a curtain of darkness. A few beams of light escalated from an upturned lamp shade in the corner of the room. They danced over the floor, cutting through the shadows.
If she didn't turn it the right way up, it could set the carpet on fire. A dry smile fell over her features at the thought. Fire, she had always liked fire and if she considered what had happened to Dan, part of her told her that she shouldn't. But when she considered what had happened to Dan, it wasn't the fire that she hated.
It was the people.
It was the Elonsicans.
But recently, something had changed. Something in the way that she had regarded them up until now had changed, but she wasn't quite sure what.
A voice shouted from outside of the door. She creased her brow, trying to fathom the words.
"Lia, they're here. Come on!"
She bit her bottom lip, then clenched the covers. Her knuckles were a stark white from holding on so tightly. She had to get up; she knew she had to get up, yet she didn't want to. But she didn't know why. They were probably growing impatient. She brushed her legs together, feeling skin touch skin.
She heard a creak. The door opened, followed by a beam of light and a figure.
Cal leaned against the doorframe, his head cocked to the side. He was clad in a white button down shirt and black trousers. He looked elegant, rich, refined. He looked the part.
She blinked. "I was about to come out."
She swung her legs, then stood up. The dress fell below her knees, the soft red fabric brushing against her legs and sending goose pimples creeping across her flesh. Her gun was strapped to her thigh, beneath her dress. It felt cold against her skin.
He folded his arms. He didn't say anything. He watched her, seemingly contemplating something. She made her way to the door, her stride even.
She couldn't let him know that she was nervous.
Her footsteps sounded exaggerated to her, fake. Everything felt so awkward again. Why did he make everything feel so awkward? She was near the door, only a few inches away, then a sudden thought occurred to her. She had to turn the lamp the right way around; otherwise, it could set the carpet on fire.
She turned again. A hand
grabbed her arm, stopping her. His fingers brushed against her bare skin. She turned to face him and met his gaze coolly.
"What?"
He cocked his head to the side. "You're scared, aren't you?"