Chanel

It took me a few days to process this as I went through the 5 stages of grief.

Denial: If Roman was capable of doing everything I witnessed him do on night 1, he was definitely capable of lying. What if he wasn't a hitman at all but instead a fatal attraction stalker that created this wild scenario to keep me here.

Anger: But what if he's actually telling the truth? That would explain my father's weird behavior after losing the election. It pissed me off because if he knew he was in danger, he should've given us some kind of warning instead of only looking out for himself! I hope the guilt eats him alive.

Bargaining: Please God, wake me up from this bad dream.

Depression: My life is over, literally.

Acceptance: I'm alive and while Roman is mean sometimes, he doesn't treat me like a prisoner so there's that.

As someone who's always glued to my phone, I began having internet withdrawals by day 3 so I was very excited when I woke up the next morning with a MacBook Pro sitting outside of my door. The excitement didn't last long after I turned it on and realized he'd blocked all social media, email and pretty much any site I could communicate on. I found it to be pretty useless until Roman gave me a credit card with a fake name on it to order whatever I needed. I needed a lot. When I packed the duffel bag, I was still under the impression that this was a ransom and I'd be back home in less than 12 hours. So I shopped...and shopped...and shopped, paying extra for overnight and one day shipping. Clothing, makeup, skincare, room decor, cat toys and accessories for Jace. I couldn't tell you how much I spent and I didn't care. This man was a million dollars richer thanks to me so I should be entitled to some of that money.

It's been a week and I must say, overall, Roman is okay...for a hitman. Good looking, too. That's actually how he caught my attention the first time I saw him. There was this energy that rushed through me. If I knew what was to come I would've run in the other direction. I hadn't seen much of him in the last 3 days. That meant he was following someone. Murder is wrong, point, blank, period! Him not killing me didn't absolve him from his other deeds or magically turn him into a good person. I honestly don't know how to feel about it but I was in no position to complain especially when I needed him.

Speaking of needing him, I cleaned and added life to his depressing house and he didn't even acknowledge it. I've noticed all Roman eats are those microwavable meals that ship here so I decided to cook some real food to butter him up. A car door slammed at about noon, then the front door opened and shut.

"Roman, is that you?" I called out sweetly.

"Who the fuck else would it be walking in my house with a key?" he answered.

"Someone's grumpy," I mumbled.

He entered the kitchen where I was and the scents hit his nose and he sniffed. "What's this?"

"It's been that long since you've come back to a home cooked meal?" I asked and he didn't answer which told me all I needed to know. I gestured to a seat at the head of the table. "Sit down."

I arranged steak with mushrooms and onions, rosemary potatoes, carrots, peas and green beans with homemade steak gravy on a plate in front of him. "And there's a pie in the oven. It should be ready by the time you finish this."

He seemed suspicious, staring down at the plate.

"I hope you don't think I did anything to it. What would I even poison you with?"

"If you open enough cabinets and drawers in this house you'll find something. Believe me," he emphasized ominously and that's when I realized guns and knives probably weren't his only weapons of choice.

"Anyway, it wouldn't be smart to poison you if this is the only place I'll be safe. As a matter of fact, I will switch plates with you if I have to."

"That's alright," he said, picking up a fork and a knife. I could tell by the way his expression softened that it was good but of course he wouldn't say it or thank me.

I sat down next to him and he gave me a side eye. "There's been something I've been wanting to ask you."

"Which is?"

"Can I have a phone?"

"No," he went back to eating.

"Why not? It's not like I've memorized any numbers so I won't be able to contact anyone from my past life..."

"Okay, then why do you need it?"

"What if there's an emergency? What if I need to call you for whatever reason? I'd just feel safer if I had one," I pleaded. "Imagine being gone all day and coming home to find me dead from something that could've been prevented if only you'd got here sooner. How would you feel?"

"Relieved to know I can spend that money in peace now that you're actually dead," he replied without thinking twice.

I looked over at his plate, he'd almost cleaned it. "I hoped you enjoyed this because it'll be the last time I do anything for you and don't even think about the pie because I'm throwing it out. Back to Megafit meals you go."

His brown eyes narrowed. "Let me go get one of my burner phones."

I almost squealed with excitement. That saying, 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach' must be true.

"I already plugged my number in," his voice approached from behind before dropping the phone in front of me.

I scoffed. "A tracfone flip? They still make these. What am I going to do with this?"

"You said you wanted it for emergencies. It'll serve its purpose. Or do you want a smartphone for other reasons?" he raised a quizzical brow.

"This conversation is far from over but right now I have to go get ready," I pushed my chair back from the table.

"Ready? For what," he asked.

"My funeral," it was being live streamed on some of the news networks.

"Are you serious right now?" he blinked.

"What? I'm like the only person in existence who'll be able to see their own funeral play out so yes, I'm dead serious," I confirmed.

Joe gave me a once over glance when I returned before looking away, uninterested.

The camera panned to the people who couldn't fit inside the church. They lined the street. "Look at all of them. I bet my Instagram followers have exploded."

"Why would someone follow a dead girl?"

"It happens. In most cases when someone dies and it becomes major news like this, they get more followers. It doesn't make much sense but it happens. Can I see your phone to check?"

"No you can not. This the reason I wouldn't dare give you an iPhone. You need to be broken. Your old life, your old followers, your old internet fame is over. None of that shit matters anymore. The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be..."

Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention back to the TV and saw one of my classmates on the inside. "Me and that bitch Tiffany have hated each other since the 6th grade and she has the nerve to show up at my funeral...dressed tacky at that!"

There was already a private funeral with just my family but here my friends and others got to speak and pay tribute. It was my boyfriend's turn.

"...we were made for each other. I miss her everyday. Chanel was the love of my life. She was my best friend. Now that she's gone, other than looking at pictures, I don't care about anything or anyone. If I could take back that one night. If I just would've been there with her," he paused, voice breaking. "Chanel would still be alive and be with me by my side, I'd give anything just to see her again."

"All that 'crying' and not a single tear has fallen. I don't know who's the worse, him or your father for doing interviews all week pretending like he has absolutely no clue why this would've happened to you," Joe shook his head.

"For a serial killer you're very judgemental. None of his bad business deals and policies have killed anyone..."

"...besides you," he added. "And let's get one thing straight. Serial killers are not sane and target specific victims for personal, psychological reasons without monetary incentive. What I do is just strictly business. Also, serial killers have a compulsive need to kill. I can quit this shit whenever I want."

I tapped around on my MacBook. "By definition, a serial killer is a person who has killed several people, 3 or more with no connection. Is that not what you do? Sure, maybe the motivations are different but you do the same thing, kill...a lot. It's basically the same thing watered down with cool terms like hitman, assassins and contract killers."

"You're getting too comfortable again," Joe said, standing. Maybe he was just uncomfortable because I was telling the truth. "Serial killers have no conscience. If I were a serial killer, you wouldn't be alive to have this conversation right now. You should be grateful. Think about that next time you want to run your mouth. I'm going out."

I'd be alone again for God knows how long. "When will you be back?"

"Don't ask me questions, Chanel. You may be the woman of the house now but you're not my wife. I'll be back when I get back."

"Asshole," I muttered. "Who would want to marry a mass murderer anyway?!"