Page 17 of You Were Warned: Part One

“It’s complicated,” he replies.

“Everything about you is complicated.”

He laughs. “You love that about me.”

I drink my coffee and don’t dignify that with a response as Rue goes back to wiping down the counter.

“You’ll be seeing more of me,” the Jester announces. “Once this is sorted.”

“Lucky us,” I drawl.

“That’s exactly what I thought,” he says as he stands. “Have a good rest of your day, love of my life.”

“Eat a dick.”

He laughs as he leaves, and I finish my coffee and food.

“Another?” Rue asks, nodding at the empty cup.

I shake my head and put the cup and plate in the dish bin.

“Are Crow and Khodi home tonight?”

Rue glances up. “Yeah.”

I nod. We have one night a week where it’s guaranteed that we are both off shift and they are working.

“You want me to stop by your place?”

“If you can,” I say, keeping my voice monotone.

He nods, and I leave.

I think Rue now understands that one day a month I stray from our usual agreement, and while he’s smart enough to realize it’s the same day every month, he never comments on it, which I like even more.

Jensen

I’m not sure what day it is—Thursday, maybe. It was Tuesday when I last checked my phone, and that feels like two days ago, but it could be more. There are messages piling up on it, and I can see the notification light blinking, but I simply don’t care enough to check it.

The drive is in the lining of my jacket; I sewed it in there when I still cared about keeping myself safe. Now I no longer care, and I should have handed it over. But back then I couldn’t bring myself to do it; so many more lives than my own would have been ruined.

I knew I was being watched. The first few people hadn’t made it a secret, but for the last few weeks, I’ve felt someone watching me everywhere I go, yet I can’t catch them.

My time was almost up, I could feel it, so what was the point in waiting when the torture they would inflict would hurt a lot more?

Yet when it came down to it, I chickened out. I thought I could throw myself off the parking complex, but I couldn’t do it. Doubts overwhelmed me—what if I survived the fall since it wasn’t a surefire way to die? There are no manuals on how to cease living in the least painful way.

The thing about the last few weeks—months now, if I want to be precise—is that at the start I had hoped whoever had hired me would simply go away. No payment was required until it was handed over, and I made the mistake of checking what it contained. Unfortunately, it is something I can never unsee.

Day by day, the paranoia kicked in. First, I made sure no one could get into the apartment, then when I knew I was being followed, I would check for reflections in the windows I passed. While trying to unveil them, I kept getting my coffee and going to the park, but whoever is following me now leaves no trace of themselves. I switched up my routine, and still nothing. It’s driving me crazy.

Lack of sleep doesn’t help. My body is drained, my mind is exhausted, and I’m ready to give up, especially after the latest texts started coming in describing in detail how they plan to get me to talk. I can’t allow that to happen, and I will die before they can get the information.

I’ve been wandering around for the last week with a bottle of pills I acquired—taking them is how I plan to go. Falling asleep and never waking up, well before anyone found my body. I’m a coward, wanting to go out easy and quietly. I’ve accepted that there is no other way to make this go away. After spending hours trying to figure out an alternative, I thought about disappearing or creating a new identity—but that would accomplish nothing. I would be forever looking over my shoulder, and that is no way to live.

I tip the little white pills into my hand and stare down at them. With one mouthful, this all goes away. Picking up my glass of water, I take a sip and tilt my head back, swallowing them all. I thought about leaving a note, but my father is a complete asshole who only cares about himself, my mother died so long ago I barely remember what she looked like, and I have no siblings. Honestly, my father will probably be relieved that he no longer has to remember he has a child. Plus, he gets to play the sympathy card that his only son is dead. He will love that attention. Imagining the chaos of my funeral hurts the most. It will be a lavish event, all show, but no one who attends will know me on a personal level.

The room is doing something weird around me—not spinning exactly, more like reality is slipping away. Nothing is staying where it should. I hear movement, which is probably a side effect of the pills slowly working, as each part of my body shuts down until I can no longer stay awake. My body feels heavy, and the world moves in slow motion.