This is a pretty lake.
You probably should take the time to come here more. There are sailboats in the distance and kids swinging at the playground on the other side of the blue water.
It's pretty here.
It was pretty here. It was a pretty lake. You correct your own thinking, your own thoughts absentmindedly. You've been doing that a lot lately. You probably should have taken the time to come here more.
The picnic table you picked is far away from everyone else, like a private little island, except you can hear echoes of laughter and screams of fun as families splash in the water. The wood is hard under your ass and your feet tap on the bench as you wait. The sun is hot on your back even as it slowly starts its descent in the late afternoon. The sun will be out for a few more hours. It's two days before the fourth of July and it's been really hot, the days are long and nights short.
This would be a pretty place to watch the fireworks.
You breathe in deep, knowing that you probably won't see any fireworks this year and that's okay. You've made peace with it.
The sound of tires on gravel startle you out of your thoughts and chills run down your spine. This is it. Your skin tightens with anxiety but you've come this far. You've made your choice.
Steady, confident footsteps follow the car door opening and closing. The rocks under their shoes crunch loudy and the pace is slower as they approach your back. You don't really want to turn and see whoever it is, but this is the last hard part. Everything else will be easy after this. It'll be done.
They don't say anything so you push your sunglasses up over your hair and rub down your face, fingers pressing hard over your temples. You've got a headache again. The dull pain gives you enough of a reason to turn your head and nod a hello towards the stranger.
The sun is behind the tall man, making you squint and you have no idea what to say. Maybe he'll say something first but you wait a few beats and you know that won't happen. He's just standing there, looking at you. From your quick glance, you see that he has dark hair slicked back and his body is slim. He's wearing far too many clothes for this heat, dress slacks and a turtleneck. Maybe he works in the city? Maybe this is his second job?
"Are you him?" Your voice doesn't sound shaky like you thought it would. You're slightly proud of yourself for that.
His voice, even though he spoke just one word, makes you shiver. "Yeah."
"Okay great, um, hello." You say awkwardly as you shift your body around to fully face him. He steps towards you slowly, coming more into view and his brown eyes are narrowed at yours. His strides are long and his arms carry a lot of strength, his hands and fingers twitch like they're ready to pounce at any sudden movement. Maybe he's military? No, but maybe he's retired because he has long hair and a beard that probably wouldn't be allowed. It really looks good on him though.
Whoever this man is, it's not what you were expecting.
At all.
"Thanks for coming." And now your voice does shake a little because this is a scary thing you're about to do and suddenly your throat is dry. Did you really decide to do this?
He doesn't say anything and continues his intense gaze. His eyes finally flicker down your body, it's nothing but a quick assessment. He nods for you to continue and you sigh deeply. It's now or never.
"Yeah okay, so I'm assuming you know why I called you?" You didn't really call, you left a message with a homeless man in the city, who somehow had text you this location, time and day to meet.
He comes even closer and the sunlight shines over his face briefly until he's in the shade. You wonder how old he is because his skin is smooth, except for the fading scab of blood on his forehead. "I understand you need a hitman."
Oh, god. He seriously just said it outloud. Like it was nothing.
You clear your throat and sweat breaks over your skin. "Yeah. Yes, that's right."
He almost looks disappointed or concerned, you can't really tell.
"For who?" He asks easily.
"Well, um. Can you tell me how much it'll be first? I'm kinda curious." You half heartedly chuckle at your own stupidity. What an amatuear.
"No." He keeps his stare sharply trained on you, but something tells you that he really doesn't want to be here, like you're wasting his time with this. Like this is below him. "Tell me who."
Moment of truth right here. You close your eyes, take a deep breath of air and face towards the water again. As you open your eyes you barely whisper, "Me."
Silence. You figured as much. It's probably not often a hitman gets hired to take out the person who hired him.
"Excuse me?" He asks incredulously.
You look at him again, this tall, dark, handsome stranger who might be the last person you'll ever see again. "I said...me."
"You?"
"Yes, me."
His eyes drop in confusion and he shakes his head, like he can't believe what he's hearing. When he looks back at you they're no longer calculating. You hadn't realized he was reading you until now, now that he looks at you with confusion and worry. "Why would you want that?" He finally asks and it startles a bitter laugh out of you.
"Why? I don't think you want to know. You'd be here all night. Will you do it?"
For a second you think he's going to say no and your mind races with what you'll do. How the hell will you find another hitman?
"Tell me why."
You think about avoiding the question again but he kind of scares you. So what if he knows? It couldn't possibly hurt anything for him to hear about your depressing life, a life you so desperately want out of. "Why? Okay… well, let's see..." You want to know his name at least and you raise your eyebrow in question.
He realizes what you want and he says his name, like he's surprised you somehow don't already know it. "John." He says slowly, and it seems like he rarely has to introduce himself.
"Okay, John." That's probably not even his real name but it'll do and you don't really care. You rub your fingers across your temple again. The ache is starting to spread and you just want this conversation over with as soon as possible. "My grandmother just died. She was the only family I had left." You pause and look over at John, but he's just waiting. "She was in the hospital for almost a year. And in hospice for almost two years before that."
Grandma was a fighter, that was for sure and you savored every single minute you could have with her. But...
"Do you have any idea how expensive hospital bills are? Funeral bills?" You don't bother to wait for an answer, but you do see John look down, like he did know something about it. "I'll have to pay for years, which would be fine but see I have a real shitty job. Doesn't pay a lot at the local gas station." You don't add that it was the only job you could find that worked nights and let you be with grandma during visiting hours.
"And not only is working at the gas station bad enough, I have an even shitter boss. He likes to harass me, John. You know anything about getting your ass grabbed on a daily basis?"
No. You thought not. John's is looking at you intently now.
"I'd quit but I have no real skills. I barely graduated high school. I love her, but taking care of grandma was a full time job and we didn't have money for help. I thought I could afford the hospice but…"
You just couldn't. You were in way over your head. No one taught an 18 year old how to take care of a dying guardian. No one taught you about credit cards and loans and interest and bankers taking advantage of you for years after you graduated. And now, over ten years later you're still paying for every mistake.
Sighing, you shift towards John and let your legs dangle off the table. "Anyway, my boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend, gets out of jail in a month."
He looks at you expectedly.
"Oh I put him in there too. Domestic abuse and stuff, you know, the usual." You cross your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to protect yourself. "So, if you don't do this I'm sure he'll find me and I'll be tied up in a basement somewhere." You bat your eyelashes, trying for some guilt. "You wouldn't want that would you, John?"
He doesn't speak after hearing you spill problems that a normal person could probably handle, but you're tired. Oh yes. You forgot to mention that. "And I live across the tracks there." You point out west, towards the bad part of town. "My apartment sucks and I haven't slept in two years. Like, real sleep, ya know?"
Obviously he doesn't because John still doesn't say anything. "The sink drips at night and keeps me awake. Drip. Drip. Drip." You can hear the sound of the water splashing in your bathroom sink as you talk about it. The annoying sound that you're now obsessed with because it repeats in your head over and over and over again for hours. All. Night. Long. Driving you insane.
"I can't afford a repair man and the apartment manager could care less. So I don't sleep. Well, sometimes I did while I was at the hospital with grandma, in a chair. Oh, and there's the dog across the alleyway from my living room that barks during the day too, so that's nice."
John is watching you squeeze at the back of your neck now, trying to ease some of the tension pulsing there. You don't mention the chronic pain that your body is in and how your stomach hurts because of all the pain killers you take. You don't mention that your car is crap and will probably die soon. You don't tell him about your parents. You skip the part about being severely depressed. You don't tell him about a lot.
"So, will you do it?" You ask again.
John pauses and opens his mouth but nothing comes out. You think for sure he'll say no, but then you remember that this is his actual job and he needs money, right? He can't really say no. You could go to the police and turn him in. You could threaten him… well, you could try to. You look him up and down again. Maybe.
"Um." He starts off slowly. "I guess… why don't you know, just do it yourself?"
Oh. You didn't really think he'd care about that and you weren't expecting to provide an explanation. "Are you a religious man, John?"
He shrugs and looks at the silver cross you wear around your neck. "Then you would know I can't do it myself. I want to see my grandma in Heaven."
John nods at that and shuffles his feet a little. It's the first real movement he's made since he got here.
"I thought about suicide by police, but I don't want anyone else to get hurt…" You think for a few seconds before you lose a thought, wanting to say it before you forget. "Can I ask you something? I mean, if you decide to do it… like, I just don't want to know when or how, obviously. I don't want to know anything. I just want it to be done. I want it to be quick." You swallow thickly, talking about your own death is really different than just thinking about it constantly. "I just don't want anyone else hurt, like if you were to cut the wires on the breaks of my car or something? I could potentially crash and hurt someone in another car. And um… could you maybe not do it when I'm in the shower?" You smile weakly at your own request. "I mean, I don't care if you like, come and do it in my sleep or whatever, but I have this thing while I'm showering… I'm at my most vulnerable, ya know and I just…"
"Yeah. I get it." He walks a few steps towards you and puts his hand on the table, close to where you're sitting. He has really long fingers and his knuckles are a bit bruised. There's a tan line where a ring used to be. He stands close to you now and he smells faintly of coffee. His body isn't as rigid either, now that he knows you're not a threat and just some small pathetic girl who can't get her shit together.
"You do?" Relief floods you. Thank God. He understands. That means he'll do it, right? "So, you'll do it?"
John just stares now, his eyes soft and unblinking.
"What's wrong?" You ask. You thought you had explained yourself well enough. What could be possibly thinking about? It's his job.
Looking away, he shakes his head. "This is just… not what I expected."
"Oh." Okay, that makes sense. You wonder who John thought you'd want to kill. He should still want to get paid though, but you don't think that'd be the best thing to tell him. You feel like you'll get scolded or yelled at for some reason. You decide to let him think and keep quiet.
His whole demeanor suddenly changes and he mutters under his breath, "Fucking Jimmy… fucking favors." He folds his arms too, like you and leans his narrow hip on the tabe, casual now. You take offense.
"Look, I'm serious about this. I can't keep living like I am. I know that it could be worse, okay? I know I could be homeless or I could… it could be a lot worse. But I'm just done. I'm tired. I want out. So just… please?"
John nods silently. Finally he answers as he stands up straight, broad shoulders squared and readies himself to leave. "I'll let you know."
You feel the panic tighten in your lungs. "Wait. What? You can't tell me now? That's bullshit!"
"That's the way this works," he says calmly. "I get to think about it and get back to you if I take the job."
You've been planning this for months. None stop thinking about this very moment. The disappointment you feel is pretty familiar though. Nothing in your life would ever be easy. "Yeah, okay." You sigh sadly. "Could you at least tell me how much it'll cost if you do decide?"
John unfolds his arms and puts his hands on his hips. "Fifty thousand."
"Fift- what? Are you serious?! That's insane."
He shrugs again and doesn't say anything. He actually does look very serious. In fact, that could be a smirk on his pretty mouth.
You may not be smart, but you aren't stupid either. "Fine. I'll just get someone else to do it. This city is full of scumbags who need to make a buck." Jumping down from the table you stand and you realize how tall John is compared to you. "Just leave. I'm sorry I wasted your time."
"No. No. Don't do that." The urgency that suddenly comes from him surprises you and it causes you to take a step back. "Just. Promise me. You won't get anyone else, okay?"
You scoff in frustration. "Well what the hell else am I supposed to do? I don't need all of this…" your hands gesture to his expensive clothes and for the first time you see the shiny classic car that's parked a few yards away. You sigh loudly, unimpressed. Usually guys who have a car like that are complete douche bags. "Fancy."
"Fancy?" John gives you a disapproving look.
"Yeah, you're very fancy, I don't know." You're pissed off and he seems to finally get it, putting his hands up like you're a scared kitten.
"Okay, okay, fine. Look, I'll do it."
Call it a woman's intuition but you don't believe him and it shows. "How much?"
John searches the ground, scrambling for an answer that won't make you walk. "Three hundred."
That's not what you were expecting, but whatever. You just want to go and lay down before your shift starts at work. You don't really have to go in, knowing it won't matter in a few days, but you want to live normally in complete bliss of denial that this whole thing ever happened. When it's your time to go, it's your time. Sort of.
"I want it to happen within a week of today. I don't care if it's tomorrow, tonight, or three days from now. But in seven's day time… it's done." You reach your hand out for John to shake it. "Deal?"
He looks down at your hand. It's like everything John does is precise, every move is made methodical. Your hands meet and shake twice, his fingers engulfing yours and you pull away quickly.
"How do I pay you?" Do you leave the money on your kitchen table or something?
John pulls car keys from his pocket. "I'll contact you."
"You don't even have my phone number. You don't even know my name."
Now he really does smirk and you feel slightly dumb at questioning him. "I'll be in contact," he repeats. You have no doubt that he knows exactly where you live, your phone number, even your social security number. He probably knew all your information before meeting you today.
"Fine." You grab your purse from the bench and swing it over your shoulder. "Thank you, I guess."
John steps back towards his car and stops. "Just… one thing?"
"Yeah?"
His voice is soft, hopeful even. "Tell me if you change your mind?"
You shake your head no. "I won-"
"Just..." He stops you before the protest starts. "When I contact you, let me know then." With that he turns towards the parking lot.
You can hear the roar of his car as you start to walk home. You did it. It's done. You smile to yourself, the first in a very long time and it feels foreign on your lips.
The dog is barking again as you try to rest. Your headache isn't much better, but the thought of a cold energy drink at work makes you get up and dressed.
It's very rare that you look at yourself in the mirror anymore. The last time must have been months ago. Your hair is stringy and long, not having a cut in years. Dark, shallow circles engulf under your lifeless eyes. Your cheeks are sunken in but you put on a few pounds lately, sugar being the only thing to keep you up and going. It's not a cute sight.
The only clothes you have now either have a hole or a rip somewhere. Your shoes are worn thin and probably contribute to the constant pain in your lower back.
You look decent enough and the thought that this might be your last night of work gives your stomach a sharp twist. John could come tonight. He could be in your apartment waiting for you when you got home. Will he have a gun? A knife? Maybe he'll strangle… you need to stop thinking about it.
The small apartment is sticky hot when you lock up, and you're glad for the short walk to the gas station for some fresh air.
Gary's car is parked in front of the car wash and your heart falls. He really is the worst manager ever and even though you're not really scared of him, he gives you the creeps. You don't want to deal with his shit tonight, not after today, and you wonder how long he'll be there since he's only supposed to check in a few times a week.
"Hey," You mutter to him as you walk briskly to put your purse in the back and grab the soda you stuck in the fridge on your last shift.
Gary's smiling and leering at you. "How are you, sweetheart?"
Grimacing weakly you nod and glance at his bald head. You never really look at him and avoid all possible eye contact. You ignore the question though and move to grab your apron under the counter and start to stock the shelves of assorted candy and gum. Hopefully he leaves you alone today.
"I like that color on you."
You hear his comment and close your eyes for strength. The door suddenly opens, signaling a customer and you hurry to the register to help. Gary must give up and heads to the back storage room.
The lady pays for her gas and a bottle of water but the register jams and you have to work your magic to get it open. The register is a piece of crap that's way older than it should be and you're surprised it still works, but you've mastered it and know every trick to get it functioning. You always have to teach the guy who works in the mornings and the other employees who work on the weekend how to fix it.
Gary finally leaves after you don't pay him much attention and keep yourself busy. It's a fine line between being rude to the guy and keeping your job. And although you could tell him off because John could technically come for you tonight, something tells you that you're better than that. But barely, because you really don't want any other girl to go through what you have in this place. Maybe you'll leave a letter to corporate and John can mail for you after he's… done.
You close up at midnight like usual and glad the night wasn't eventful. Walking to your car is a different experience than any other night. You're hyper aware of your surroundings, expecting a tall figure to approach you at any second. It's slightly disappointing when nothing happens and you make it home just fine.
There's no one in your apartment either. You kind of thought John would be waiting in the closet, waiting for you to sleep or something, but he's not here.
You lay in bed, restless. Should you even plan out your day tomorrow? John could slip in the middle of the night and you would never know. He said that he would be in contact, but you're not sure how long you'll have to wait. Your thoughts are a jumbled mess and it's oddly quiet. So odd that you sit up a little wondering what's going on. There's no dog barking. You dare get excited enough to open the window, finally letting in a cool breeze that you've been longing for since the warmer months. You would always drown out the barking by keeping the window closed, but this feels amazing.
You creep into your own bathroom with the lightest of footsteps. Could this actually be happening? There's no water coming from the facet. No sound of drip. Drip. Drip.
It's silent. For the first time since you've lived here it's relatively quiet and you jump back in bed suddenly exhausted from today's big meeting. Images of John float through your mind and you close your eyes and finally sleep.
You wake with a newfound energy. How amazing it is to sleep well and get a full night rest. Your body feels lighter and mind alert. You take the time to stretch, breathing in deeply. You actually have time to do things. Usually you lounge around in bed before you have to get up for your shift, resting all you could. It feels good to pick up around the apartment, throw some things away that you don't want anyone finding...well, after…
There's a pep in your step when you get to work, plus Gary's car isn't in the parking lot. In fact, there's a strange woman behind the counter bustling around, shoving papers here and there.
"Hi… are you new?" You ask. She's a nice looking lady, with blue eyes and soft blond hair above her shoulders.
Startled, she turns and smiles. "Hi! No, not really. Well, I'm one of the district managers. Gary suddenly quit so I'm trying to figure out where everything is and what I can do to help. I'm Carla, by the way."
A slow grin spreads on your lips. "Gary quit? Seriously?"
"Yeah," she sighs. Still flipping through a stack of papers that you recognize are the schedules for you and your co-workers. "Said he was moving across the country, I'm not sure. Now who are you exactly? I'm sorry, I haven't met anyone. I came in to open up this morning and I've been here all day."
You introduce yourself politely and offer that she take a break and go to get something to eat or go home. You can handle closing up, after all.
Carla nods and grabs her purse. "You're sweet, thank you. I remember your name from the records the company keeps on file. Your cash handling skills are great and you've never called out. You've never had any warnings. How would you like a promotion today?"
You can't do anything but blink at her.
She laughs warmly at your reaction. "Look, why don't you think it over, okay? It's actually not a bad gig. An assistant manager is what I'm looking for. You'd work under me, but you'd be in charge of all the scheduling and hiring. I'd need you to be full time but that means benefits and a raise, of course. There's a folder on the counter about the training program. I'll see you tomorrow?"
Nodding, you go behind the counter as she goes through the door. You're glad there's no customers around right now because you just sink into the chair and stare, jacket and backpack still on. You think she must be joking and shake yourself out of it. The folder is blue and laminated with thick paper, very professional. You briefly look at the benefit section in the back. It's typical medical, dental, vision… and mental health? Therapy and counseling included for a small fee.
Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore. You'll have to tell Carla no tomorrow. If you have a tomorrow. You push the folder to the side and pay attention to the flow of customers starting to come in for the after work rush. It stays busy well after the sun goes down and you realize it's Fourth of July, so it's typically busier than normal. You briefly feel sad that this is how you spend your last holiday.
After a quick break when it's quiet you reach to check your phone. You have a text from an unknown number.
Did you change your mind yet?
You scoff and shake your head. Yet? Yeah right. You type out No and send it back, putting John's name into your phone first. You wonder if he'll destroy it after… or hide it with your body… ugh, there was a reason you couldn't do this yourself. It's morose.
You've already gone through every single emotion though. The turmoil, the grief, the anger, the shame, and finally the acceptance. There's no talking you out of it now. You don't have anything that would be worth something, so your stuff will probably be thrown out or donated. You do wonder about the debt and what will happen, but you just don't think about it too much.
Your phone beeps again a few hours later, as you're packing up to go home.
Relax. I'm not coming tonight.
A breath you've been holding without realizing escapes and you hadn't known how tense you were the entire night. You think John might be trying to fool you, but you also don't think that's his style.
The car ride home is oddly smooth and your car seems a lot less bumpy than usual. Maybe that means it'll break down soon, you have no idea.
You wonder what will happen to your car after you're gone as you drive home.
The next day you have nothing to do in the morning, but you need to do laundry so you head out early with your dirty clothes stuffed in a bag, swung heavily over your shoulder. You decide to treat yourself on the way and a sweet, rich coffee that tastes so good as you take a long sip. No one is around and you settle in a hard plastic chair to wait after you throw the first wash in the machine.
He could poison me, you think to yourself, staring at your coffee. That'd be a good way to do it. Nice and easy. No witnesses he'd have to deal with. No investigation. That's what you're paying him for, right? No messes to clean up.
The door to the laundromat swings open and here comes John himself, almost walking in slow motion in his dark suit, and you feel like you've just been punched in the gut. This is how he decides to do it? Now? At the laundry place? Where you're wearing old clothes and wrinkled underwear? Perfect.
"Hi." He stands over you, tall and brooding. You notice that he has a faint trace of a black eye and a small cut on his lip.
"This is happening?" You ask, still not really believing your shitty luck. This beautiful man seeing you in such a state of upheaval is embarrassing.
"No. Not right now. I wanted to see if you changed your mind." John's voice is stern, determined. His hair is slicked back, making him look intimidating, much more now that you're both under fluorescent lights rather than the soft sun rays at the park.
Your eyes track down his body, taking in those shoulders and slim waist, long legs in a perfectly fitted suit. "Do you always dress up? Like every day?"
"What?"
You gesture to his clothes. "What's with all the suits? I mean, you look very nice but this is the cheapest laundromat in the entire city."
For the first time John really looks around. His eyes had darted past you to the backdoor as he walked in, but otherwise his gaze was completely on you. "I um… I have another job after this."
"Oh. I didn't know hitmen were in such demand."
John clears his throat. "Assassin."
"What?"
"I'm an assassin." He says it slowly, making sure you understand. "Not a hitman."
An assassin? That makes sense, you knew he was too fancy to be a hitman. "What's the difference?"
Still speaking slowly he says, "A hitman usually gets one target. I get them all."
"Do you like… shoot guys from a rooftop or something?"
"No, that's a sniper."
"Of course. I apologize." What a completely ridiculous conversation you're having right now.
He cocks his head at your words and raises an eyebrow.
You take a sip of your coffee. "What?
"You aren't scared?"
"Of what?" You smile, almost teasingly. "You? No. I kinda knew you were in the business when I hired you, remember?"
"Oh, so I'm your employee?"
You swear he's almost teasing back and it surprises you, because up until now he's been so serious. You shrug your shoulders though, looking him up and down again. "I mean, I guess. You must be really desperate for that three hundred bucks." It comes out sarcastic but you can't help it.
John presses his lips together, disapproving again and sighs. "Why don't you call this off, huh?"
Sure, work has gotten immensely better and you can actually sleep through the night. Two huge changes all in just two days, but you still have a mountain ahead of you. "I have thousands of dollars in debt, John. I have an ex boyfriend who is literally going to hunt me down in a month. Changing my mind is not an option."
He unbuttons his suit jacket and puts his hands on his hips, starting to pace.
You sip your coffee again. "I appreciate you asking, but I don't see a way out so… a deal is still a deal, right?"
You watch as he doesn't answer and thinks. He really is a good looking assassin. You feel bad that he has to see you in this state of disarray. Beautiful women are probably all over him.
John stops suddenly. "What's the ex boyfriend's name?"
"Huh?"
"His name? Tell me what it is."
You usually wouldn't in a million years, but you totally lied before because John actually does scare you. "It's Max. Max Brickson."
John looks up at the ceiling, like he's cataloging all the names in his head for something familiar but it doesn't seem like he knows it. "I'll take him out instead."
"Huh?" You haven't talked to many people lately, wanting to keep to yourself, but usually you can at least articulate actual words.
"I'll take your money," John is talking fast now and sits down in the plastic chair next to yours. "And I'll kill him. Instead of… well, instead of you. Problem solved."
"Um, problem not solved." Your voice is squeaky. "What if he hurts you? No way."
There's that pensive, disapproving look again. With a flick of his wrist you suddenly see a very sharp knife in his hand. Without even looking he throws it smack in the center of the poison sign on the wall all the way in the back.
"Okay, stupid point." You swallow thickly because that was awesome and frightening all at once. "But I can't have someone killed. Are you insane? There's a difference between doing it to myself and someone else."
John is rattled with confusion. "But he hurt you? Abused you, probably."
"So what? No, absolutely not." You shake your head and cross your legs, giving John your own don't mess with me right now look.
"Well what if I scare him off? When he gets out? I could come to your place for a few nights, see if he comes around and if he does…"
You narrow your eyes.
"I'll just beat him up, I swear. That's all I'll do."
He's lying. You both know it.
"Yeah right." The plastic chair creaks as you get up to put your laundry in the dryer. "Besides, that still leaves the bills, John. My back hurts, my feet hurt, I'm lonely, I have no one. I don't have anything to live for. So just forget about it. The deal stays as is. I don't know why you care anyway."
The air is weighted with thick tension and he's up, walking to get his knife that's still sticking in the wall. He doesn't say anything as he passes you and slams the door shut after him.
As far as visits to the laundromat go, this was by far the most exciting.
It's been five days and you're still alive. Yes, you're less tired and yes, work has been better but still. You groan at the pile of mail on your table and decide to open the envelopes you've just added from emptying your mailbox, probably for the last time.
The first papers you open have red ink all over, littered with the words over due and late. You decide to leave them in a nice pile for whoever will find them, somewhat organized. The next envelope is thinner though and you have to look at it twice. Zero balance. Paid in full.
Great. Some sort of mistake. Something else to deal with. Although, you don't really have to do anything about it. You toss it on top and clean the kitchen a little, read through one of the free magazines you got from work, but curiosity eventually gets to you.
After twenty minutes of answering questions about your account, the nice lady from the collection agency tells you that your balance is in fact, zero. Not only that, but the other account you have in your name is also at zero. They were both paid two days ago but she can't tell you what happened.
You have to get to work anyway and you're still thinking about it when Carla asks you what's wrong. Telling her briefly about the situation you confide that you're baffled, but she shrugs it off.
"Your grandma probably had life insurance. Mine did, and my father didn't find out about it until after she passed. She probably knew how expensive all of this would be for you." Patting you on the shoulder, Carla's eyes are full of sympathy as she goes behind the counter to help someone.
You knew all of grandma's finances though. At least, you thought you did. Maybe she was keeping secrets.
The front door swings open and Sam greets you, "hey buddy," He's a new kid Carla hired a few days ago to help on your off days and he's here for training. He's still in high school and seems really sweet.
Carla is texting away on her phone and tells Sam to put his stuff in the back and grab a water before getting started. Then she grabs your elbow and whispers, "Do you think you could train Sam today? I know you told me no about the assistant manager position, but my daughter is having a meltdown about a boy right now. I'll make sure to give you a bonus and buy you one of those coffees you like!"
You smile and nod. At least the day will go by faster. "Just the coffee will be fine," you tell her and she shoots you a grateful look. She tells Sam what's going on and flies out the front door, both of you giggling at the sight of her dress blowing in the wind.
The night goes really smooth and Sam goofy, making you laugh more than you can remember. You learned shortly after Carla and you had a conversation a few days ago that Gary had been keeping you on nights alone, saving the salary of the extra person who would have been with you for at least a few hours before closing. He had been doing a lot of things wrong, like not letting you take lunches or refusing to pay you overtime. Carla was pretty shocked when she looked at the logs and it had all stopped immediately.
You feel pretty proud at the way Sam gushes over how you know all the tricks to the register, especially when he locks it up a few times and you know how to troubleshoot it easily. You hope he remembers all these tricks because even the girls from the day shift have to call you sometimes for help.
Before you know it, Sam is leaving and you're heading out. The ride home is short and your apartment quiet.
You sit at your kitchen table, eyeing the zero balance written in black ink you left on top of the pile of envelopes.
Not red.
Well, fuck.
Your life is kinda good right now. It doesn't actually royally suck. Yeah, you still have to worry about Max, but you could always take John up on his offer. If you don't have to use your entire paycheck to pay the credit bills, and you took the promotion, that'd leave you enough to start saving… and maybe buy some new shoes. Maybe you could go to counseling. Get your head back on straight. Maybe go back to school.
Your fingers are cold when you reach for your cell phone. You think that you might change your mind in the morning, but knowing a good sleep is in the cards for you tonight, you decide to just make the call now.
"This is Wick."
"John?"
"Oh hey… how are you?"
His full name is John Wick and the thought barely processes before you continue to talk. "I think I changed my mind."
"You think?"
Of course he wasn't going to let you off that easy. "Fine. I did change my mind. Don't do it."
You can hear him smiling through the phone. "This is the first job I've ever been fired from."
"Ah, John. I'm sure you would have done an excellent job. Thanks for not… well, you know. Not doing anything to me yesterday. Or even this morning." You tell him, tapping the zero on the folded bill with your fingernail. "I appreciate everything, in a really weird way."
"I didn't do anything." He says softly.
"You gave me time. Things suddenly seem to be working out so… yeah."
John's voice is kind and you vividly remember him throwing the knife with such force in the laundromat. You're sad that you'll never see him again. You wonder if he wasn't an assassin and if you weren't such a wreck maybe you could ever be friends. "I'm really happy for you."
You don't say anything as you hang up on him. You can tell he's not one for goodbyes anyway.
It takes a few weeks, but therapy is a good look on you. Things that were very black and white in your world suddenly had color. Smiling more and crying less, laughing instead of eating your feelings away. The new job is just challenging enough that you excel at it, but still have time for maybe taking some classes when school starts.
You did buy new clothes, new shoes, and a new mattress. You don't have enough for a new car yet, but surprisingly it's running just fine. Turns out your apartment manager only speaks Russian, and simply didn't understand when you tell him things are broken. Now you have new light bulbs, and new shower head, and new carpet.
Your savings account is slowly growing too. You've gone out to lunch a few times with Carla and even helped Sam with his homework once or twice. Your confidence is building and you feel the strength in your mind and body. It's amazing what can happen when you sleep and pain isn't throbbing in your back, and the headaches seem to have gone away too.
In fact, you've taken up running and currently you're at a good pace around the lake early this morning. The music is blasting in your ears and the sweat at your brow feels good. You feel alive.
And that's when you spot him. You'd know that stride anywhere, John being on your mind as a handsome acquaintance instead of an assassin you hired… and then fired.
"Hey! I can't believe you're here!" You pull out your earbuds and catch your breath as you take in John's appearance. He looks different in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He has the cutest bulldog on a leash who is patiently waiting by his side.
"Hi!" He looks almost as surprised as you are. Almost. He smiles widely and puts his hands shyly in his pockets.
"What're you doing here? You live close by?" You ask, still sucking in air. You're so out of shape, but you learned in therapy that even ten minutes is a milestone.
"Uh, yeah. I live in Mill Neck." He points across the lake, towards the nice side of town. You live on the opposite side of the lake.
"Ah, of course. That's cool."
"You look nice. You look happy." John says, still smiling softly, his eyes never leaving yours.
Blushing you glance down at the dog and ignore his words. "Who's this big guy, huh? Can I pet him?"
"Yes, of course." John replies. "I only got him a few weeks ago actually, still figuring out a name."
"He looks like a pooch, don't ya?" You forget John is even there as you crouch down and talk to the dog, who has a beautiful silver blue coat of fur and you laugh as he licks at your chin.
"I think he likes you." John bends down too and gently pulls the dog away. "Pooch, huh?"
"Well anything's better than hey dog." You shrug and stand back up. "He's really cute."
"Yeah, I think we get along just fine." John agrees.
You start to put your earbuds back in and give him a little wave, suddenly feeling awkward. You don't want to intrude on his walk.
"I'll be seeing you, maybe?"
John chuckles and bites at his lip. "Not if I see you first."
What the hell does that mean? A huge flock of ducks fly down into the lake and you hear the leash pull as John lets out a low sound of a commanding heel, which makes you tingle.
However, it doesn't faze the dog because he barks. Loudly. And you stop cold. You know the sound of that bark. It's tattooed in your brain. You turn around slowly and now you shiver all over, but not because of attraction. You slowly stalk back towards John and you can hear him mutter to himself. It sounds like shit . It sounds like he just got caught.
"You stole the fucking dog across from my apartment." Your voice is low and accusing, a statement because you already know the answer. You lean in close to John, your jaw ticking in anger. "You kidnapped a dog!"
"Shh. Look, come over here." He leads you to a nearby bench and sits you down.
You feel a panic attack coming and you try to think of what you learned in therapy. The lightheadedness gets to you fast though and John pushes your head between your legs. You'd be embarrassed but you're too upset. "Oh my God. You did everything, didn't you? You… you…. Oh my God. I'm so fucking stupid."
John sits down and tries not to crowd you, but he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. The dog seems unfazed and curls up at his feet. "He was starving," John pleads, his fingers lightly brushing your elbow. "That's why he was always barking. He was chained up with no food, only rainwater to drink. No shelter. I couldn't just leave him there."
You look at the dog and even now through a panicked haze, you can see that his ribs are sticking out slightly. He's happily panting and staring down the ducks, completely oblivious of your anxiety.
"Tell me what else. Oh my God, you made them give me a promotion? I couldn't even do that by myself."
John pauses and shakes his head. "No, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh my God… did you kill Gary?"
"... no"
"Oh my GOD."
"I just threatened him." John's voice is loud now and he looks around guiltily. You glare at him to start talking and he's almost whispering. "Really. I didn't kill him. I went over to his house in the middle of the night when no one else was home and-"
"I don't want to know."
"Look, he needed to go. He really was a scumbag. Not kill worthly, but still. The town is better off without him here."
You look at John in disgust. He's telling you all of this so calmly. Another thought pops in your mind that makes you sick. "You paid off my debt, didn't you?"
He doesn't answer, just sits back on the bench and gazes out to the water.
"Tell me." Your stomach turns, but you need to know.
He nods once, not looking at you. Avoiding your eyes entirely.
"You asshole." You mutter, your hands forming into a fist. "You complete asshole."
He catches you before you can punch his shoulder and forces your arm down with ease. You know he's holding back his full strength, but you can see his muscles bulge a little under his tight t-shirt. It's very distracting.
"I thought I was helping. I would have tried to help anyone in your situation. I'm sorry, I should have told you. I didn't know how."
Slumping, you sit back too. Well this is a good mindfuck. Your brain starts to function again and the cold sweat from the panic attack is fading. You stare at your new running shoes that are so comfortable. The new purple wristband that shows how far you've gone and what your heart rate is at. You even got your haircut at the expensive new salon in the city. It's so shiny and healthy now.
"I can pay you back." You whisper, not knowing how long it'll take. You can't really return anything you bought, but maybe you can pick up some shifts at work. Get a second job instead of going to school.
John laughs, but nothing is funny and it comes out humorless. "This is not how I wanted you to find out. I had no intention of you paying me back. That was not the deal."
"Fuck the deal. The deal has changed and I didn't even know it." You tell him, still staring at your feet. "Are you really even an assassin? How is this possible?"
"Oh, I'm an assassin," John says, like he's been doing it for years. "That homeless guy you gave your number to? He's an informant for the police. I did my undercover cop friend a favor, he twisted his ankle the morning we met and needed someone to take his place."
"Uh huh…" You're starting to feel really dumb now.
"I was never going to kill you." John continues. "Or anyone, I was just there to get information. Usually when a woman wants a hitman they want parents or husbands dead for the insurance or inheritance money. And you were obviously not a threat, so I told my friend you didn't show."
"Obviously."
John rubs his hands up and down his legs and you've never seen him nervous. "I just take care of really bad people, in case you were wondering…"
You weren't. You were only thinking of yourself. Flooding feelings of shame come crashing down. How could you be so selfish?
"Bad people?"
John mumbles "yes," and you start thinking about the money again. "I need to pay you back."
He shifts on the bench and gently guides your chin to look at him. His touch makes you dizzy all over. "Can I tell you something and you really hear it right now? Like, really listen to what I'm going to say to you."
You nod and meet his eyes, and it doesn't look like he believes you, but he starts anyway. "I have plenty of money." His tone is very soft and he's speaking slowly, like you're a child. "I don't need your money."
"You don't need my money?" You ask, still not completely with it.
"I don't need your money." He confirms. "You're not going to pay me. If you do, I'll find a way to get it back to you."
"Oh my God." You sit up with a gasp. How could you be so oblivious? "Did you fix my bathroom sink?"
John looks guilty again, hands now falling in his lap. "You needed to sleep. And you need a new lock on your door, it was too easy to break in."
"And you fixed my car." You say in a daze, not really listening to him anymore.
"Well, it was easy to steal while you were at work and my friend is a mechanic. All it needed was some new tires and a tune up."
Your eyes are wide and you blink to keep from screaming at him. "Anything else?"
"No. No, that's it."
As if it wasn't enough.
You don't remember leaving the lake. You barely remember John calling out your name, his fingers grabbing at yours to stay with him.
You do remember getting home and calling your therapist for an emergency session. It took three hours to explain it all. She tried to hide it, but she looked pretty horrified at your plan to hire a hitman. You've only seen her a handful of times anyway, and you hadn't even breached the surface of your problems, let alone get to the part about John. She manages to calm you down, and gives you some coping skills to get through the rest of the day. She also asks if you still plan on hurting yourself, but you can confidently tell her no. You promise when you go home you'll do some deep breathing exercises that you admit actually do work.
You think any sane person would thank John for doing all he did, but you're too proud and it pisses you off. No one gets help like that. Everyone should fend for themselves. Fight their own fight. And you had, and you thought you'd figured it out. You didn't need someone to save you. You were going to escape, however it had to be done.
At the end of another therapy session a few days later, you come to terms with it. You realize John is an adult and acted on his own will. You couldn't have controlled him or his actions. For some reason he decided to help you and somehow you need to know that maybe you're worth it. That's later down the road though, you're still not ready to see that yet.
You decide on a whim one night to text John that you forgive him and thank him for the things he did.
He sends you back a smiley face emoji and you melt a little more.
It's only been three weeks since the day at the lake when your phone rings with a private number. It's the officer who arrested Max and helped get him behind bars. He's being let out tomorrow and Officer Sanders wanted to let you know as a courtesy. You thank him, your throat dry and he tells you to call him immediately if you need help.
You think about John's offer at the laundromat, but can you really ask him to do something else for you? It's a little desperate and you've become so independent in this last month that the thought really doesn't sit well. Instead, you berate yourself for not taking self defense classes and briefly consider buying a gun when your phone rings again.
"Your ex is getting paroled tomorrow." John tells you, before you can even say hello. "I'll be at your place for a few days. No argument." Gone is the guilt ridden guy at the park, the assassin is back and you don't have the guts to tell him no.
"The couch is really uncomfortable." You try instead and you can almost hear an eye roll.
"Be safe." And John hangs up.
You lay down on your bedroom floor and reach under your bed for the baseball bat you hid there a long time ago. You could totally take care of yourself and practise a few swings, going a little too hard and somehow you end up with a good size bruise on the top of your foot.
Sighing, you sit down on your bed and come to accept that John Wick, the assassin, is just going to stay with you for a couple days. Not an issue at all. No problem. All very normal.
You tell yourself this over and over, but in the back of your mind you know it's all lies and denial.
TBC