summerrhoades (summerrhoades) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-08-23 23:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | ~summer rhoades |
Make No Mistake
It never failed. The second the sun crept over the horizon, Summer’s eyes flew open.
Most of the time, it was little more than a mild annoyance. But given recent events, all Summer wanted to do was sleep the hours away. The woman in bed beside her did bring a smile to her face, because what a night they’d had, but that good night also meant she had seen sleep for far fewer hours than she had hoped.
With a sigh, Summer rolled onto her back and grabbed her phone. The burner Noah had gifted her. Chewing on her lower lip, she opened a notepad app she wasn’t sure would be on this phone. But it was, and her fingers started dancing over the virtual keyboard before she could stop herself.
Thoughts trapped in Summer’s head for the last several days, only now spilling out of her after a night of alcohol and amorous company had loosened her filters. She could hear the voice telling her it was a mistake as she typed, but Summer couldn’t stop herself.
The sheets bunched around her waist, and Summer cast a glance to her right. She hoped the light from the phone wouldn’t wake Tasha. She didn’t feel like explaining what she was writing.
The fact that you took this job doesn’t bother me.
It should, but it doesn’t.
This is a cutthroat business, often literally. This isn’t the first time someone I thought a friend came after me. If I’m lucky, it won’t be the last.
No. What bothers me -- more than I like to admit, even to myself -- is the look in your eyes the night you came after me. I wasn’t just a job to you. It was personal. What made you see me in such a way? Why did you accept this mark with such anger in your eyes? Such hatred?
I know we ended badly, and that’s as much my fault as it is yours. Okay, it was mostly my fault for being naïve enough to think I could talk you out of this life. Maybe I was naïve to even think I could ever leave this life. But can you blame me? The way we used to look at each other? The way we…
Another glance at the other side of the bed.
You loved me at one point. When did that change? The day you walked out the door? The night your mark fell dead with my bullet buried in his brain? The night you led a man into your bed for the first time (yes, I was there for that)?
You made a mistake taking this job. He made a mistake hiring you, and trust me when I tell you, he’s going to pay for it. For the first time, I want someone dead. Not just in the sense that they’re a bad person and I’ll make a lot of money. After that night, I truly want to kill him in the most painful, gruesome way possible. That doesn’t scare me in the least.
But wanting you dead does.
Make no mistake, Lola: I still love you. Probably as strong and as passionately as the night we first shared a bed. You were my happily ever after. My always.
You are the most remarkable, maddening, challenging, frustrating person I’ve ever met, but Lola, you are the only one who’s ever made me feel truly alive. Yes, I loved plenty before our paths crossed, but you were the one who made all those love songs and all those goddamn sappy poems your grandfather loved make sense.
And now you want me dead. Not for a check, but because you want to live in a world without me in it. What am I supposed to do with that?
Keep coming after me if you must. I hope the bullet I put in your knee will give you second thoughts, but I’ve been around to know it probably won’t. So know this, Lola Haskins: you come at me again, I won’t hold back.
The next bullet goes in your heart. To remind you of my love.
Forever and always,
Your Favorite Season
Summer saved the message and sent it to the number she knew by heart before she could talk herself out of it. She then put the phone on silent and tossed it onto the nightstand before rolling over and slipping her arm around the sleeping woman beside her.
All she could do now was watch the sun come up.