Page 28 of Because I Killed Him
The Charlotte I know wouldn’t be so calm. She’d be crying or, at the very least, popping stress-relief pills. The suspicion that she’s hiding something flares even stronger.
“Harry was scared… more scared than I’ve ever seen him,” I text her as I hand my coat to a Pinkie. “Why aren’t you?”
“What do you mean? I’m scared enough to piss, Lore,”Charlotte replies.“I’ve just been in worse situations.”
“Not with me, you haven’t.”
“Well, maybe if I’d been with you, things wouldn’t have gotten as bad as they did.”
“What things, specifically?”
Charlotte exhales a cloud of smoke and flicks her hand dismissively.“It’s nothing a Gibson can’t fix. Think you can spot me this time? My dad hasn’t wired my student allowance yet.”
“Why do you keep dodging my questions? And since when are you a morning drinker?”
She jerks her chin toward the steam-covered platform outside, where the mob is still dispersing.“If I can die in the morning, I can drink in the morning.”
Still unsatisfied, I press her further.“If you’re worried you might die, then why are you still here? You’re not staying with me because you feel guilty about leaving the first time, are you?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because…”Charlotte purses her lips, then stubs out her cigarette in an ashtray.“At this point, Lore, whether I’m with you or not doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. You’re not the only one with enemies, okay? You’re not the only one who has to skulk around with your tail between your legs, wondering if you’re going to live to see another day.”
She plants her back to me, arms crossed over her chest. Through the window glass, I see her gnawing her lip, and I realize it’s time to stop. Even if I have more questions—about her enemies, her breakup with Jack, her friendship with Edmund—it’s clear the answers will come only on her terms.
I sink deeper into my seat, staring blankly at a Pinkie taking food and drink orders in the aisle. Holographic menus float overhead, advertising a variety of aperitifs, fine wines, appetizers, full-course meals, and desserts. My stomach rumbles in response.
Just then, the front door of the carriage slides open. A girl with blonde kiss curls enters, looking nothing like the photo I saw on Quill an hour ago. She has no mimosa. No friends. No smile. Her mascara is smudged down one cheek, and her nose is pink from crying. She holds a handkerchief to her lips as she moves down the aisle, searching for a seat.
Then she spots me.
The girl’s eyes light up, and to my surprise, she heads down the aisle toward the last empty seat in my row.Hell no.I grab my bag, a lacquered envelope purse, and slam it onto the empty seat.
The girl stops, stares at the bag, then blushes bright red. Tears shimmer in her eyes as she pedals back down the aisle and slumps into the eighth row.
I don’t feel guilty.
Jane Bradford didn’t help me when I needed it. She didn’t spare me a word of support or offer a helping hand after her father gave me a weapons restriction.
And for that, I won’t offer mine.
Ahead, the Pinkie drones on, taking orders in a monotone voice. Each request is processed with the same preconfigured phrasing: “Would you care to make a request?” “Your request has been noted.” But when the robot reaches the eighth row, where Jane sits, its limbs start twitching.
“Sir, I wish to place an order for a mint tea.” Jane sniffles. “With a slice of lemon. And please bring me a fresh handkerchief as well.”
“Apologies, Miss Bradford,” the Pinkie responds. “I am unable to assist you at this time.”
“Excuse me?” Her mouth bobs like a trout. “But, sir, it is yourdutyto serve me.”
“Apologies, Miss Bradford,” the robot repeats. “I am unable to assist you at this time.”
I lean into the aisle so far that I almost fall out of my seat. Is it glitching? It’s not the first time I’ve seen a robot flame out, but refusing to serve the daughter of a representative who voted to ban Bliss is too convenient.
I use my Bond to snap a photo of the identification number on the Pinkie’s badge, then wait patiently as the robot continues taking orders. No more glitches. It serves the students with a polite smile until it reaches our row.
“Miss Deering, would you care to make a request?” the Pinkie asks.
