Still Waters (Greenstone Security 1)

I gave Luke a sideways look, and his eyes lingered on Rosie’s back before he met mine. He gave me a slight nod before turning back to his date.

He might have been stationary but he was running too.

Though, who wasn’t?

From:

To:

Subject: Bad Decisions

Hey.

So, I know I said to find another pen pal, but that was sober Lucy. This is new Lucy, the one who has had enough cocktails to find the sense that she lost, or lose the sense that she found.

I’m running.

And I’m tired. Do you ever run? Like not recreationally, but for survival. Like if you stop running, you don’t know if you’ll survive what catches you? I’m sure you don’t. Because you’re a big strong soldier man who probably is the thing that does the chasing. Or you could kill whatever it is (the chaser) with enough force on a pressure point.

Side note: Can you do that? Kill someone with just a touch?

Maybe I don’t need to know the answer to that. I’ve got a friend. He got killed and nothing even touched him. Or maybe everything did. Burned him up to ashes, and it killed him. Except he’s still around. Walking. Talking. I don’t know if that’s the good news or the bad news.

Anyway, the thing that did that? The person who did that? Her name was Laurie. I knew her since… well, since I’ve been here. On this earth, that’s the here I mean.

Her mom and my mom were in the hospital together. Our birthdays are… no, wait, were three days apart. We used to have joint parties. Though it was funny because she always wanted pink and princess and I wanted black and… not princess.

We alternated. One year we had Cinderella, I was Maleficent, and the next we had a Darth Vader, she was Leia.

Our twenty-first party was in one room, and we split it down the middle. Half yellow, half black. Even the drinks.

It was tradition.

Until three years ago. Three years ago today. I can say today because it’s exactly 12:01 a.m. Today. The worst today in the history of todays.

She died today. Not today today, but three years ago today.

Did you know that someone who lived their life in pinks and yellows and was afraid to kill spiders could die in an angry and violent, vile way that even the worst of us don’t deserve?

Yeah. I didn’t think someone so good could attract people so bad. That they could touch that.

They did.

They ended it.

Today.

And that just sucks.

But I wanted to say, that kiss? It was the first time I stood still in three years.

Since, before that, actually.

Since him and the ice and the blood and the chaos.

Please make it back so we can stand still again.

Always Lagerfeld’s

L

I stared at the screen, despite the brightness of it puncturing my throbbing head like a jagged needle. Since today was still technically a work day, and I had a story to file, I’d grabbed a quick and greasy breakfast with buckets of coffee with a bright-eyed Rosie and a healthy Ashley. Rosie was only bright-eyed because she’d yet to go to sleep.

We’d decided to brave the elephant this year. Because we had to endure. And all we had was each other.

So we’d had breakfast, Ashley completely sober and Rosie still drunk from the night before.

Me? I’d made the rookie mistake of slinking off from the club and not staying up long enough to run from the hangover.

I was sitting at the computer, coffee in hand, hangover in head and now, regret coursing through every part of my body. That was also accompanying the pain that was ever present but near unbearable on this particular day.

“Fuck,” I hissed at the computer.

Lauren, the features editor, glanced at me over the rim over her thick glasses. “Let me guess. Tequila?” she asked, taking in the bloodshot eyes that even coffee and concealer couldn’t hide.

The rest of me was more or less put together. The thing with all black was it made you look like you had your shit together even when you didn’t. That and eyeliner.

I glanced at her. Perfectly buttoned, not a hair out of place, her white shirt crisply ironed, her pencil skirt a demure length. Her heels elegant yet sensible.

She was my complete opposite. She didn’t drink.

Coffee or wine.

Didn’t believe in hems above the knee and thought the best way to blow off steam was a good book and a cup of non-caffeinated tea.

AKA my worst nightmare.

In theory.

Somehow, we’d become some version of friends, despite not understanding each other. Maybe that was why.

I resisted the urge to slam my head at the keyboard. “I wish,” I groaned. “Tequila I can handle.” I glanced at her. “Have you ever sent a drunken text and then wanted to curl up and die reading it in the morning?”