ACCLIVITY(Being Revised)

Unfinished Second Course

“Dear Amnesia,

Am I intelligent enough to make the right choice? Have I ever made the right choice? I feel like a plum on an apple tree. Is my mind unwanted by the crowds?” 

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The ride wasn't long, and traffic drifted by lazily, a sluggish rhythm that seemed to mirror my thoughts. I could feel the engine humming under my seat, vibrating through my muscles. We scuttled out as soon as we stopped, though I struggled more than he did. The dress clung awkwardly to my frame, making every movement feel like I was tiptoeing around an obstacle. The dagger strapped inside my thigh pinched with every step, a reminder of its presence. I'd rather endure the discomfort than be without it. I wondered briefly how brides tolerate garter bands, though they likely don’t have knives tucked inside theirs.

The building loomed over us—grand, with the quiet authority of wealth. It resembled a lavish hotel, where the scent of perfume and aged leather lingered in the air. Dim lighting washed the interior in amber tones, the golden bubble lights above glimmering like enormous fireflies frozen in glass. Everything seemed to flicker slightly, as if caught between moments, and the rumble of soft voices hummed through the dining area. The walls absorbed most of the noise, making it feel intimate yet tense, as if the air itself waited for something to break.

A waiter greeted us and silently guided us between tables with the smooth precision of someone trained to remain invisible. We followed him toward a balcony, where the ocean spread out in the distance, its dark surface shimmering faintly under the muted moonlight.

And there he was, sitting as if the entire world belonged to him.

His arms were draped across the backs of two chairs, and as we approached, he rose with a serpentine ease, a grin already stretching across his face—wide, unsettling, and cold. His teeth were unnervingly straight and bright, like polished ivory. When the gold rims of his glasses caught the ambient light, they glittered, as if taunting the darkness around us.

He didn’t just wear his black suit; he commanded it, as if born in its fabric. Every motion, every step, was seamless—practiced and deliberate.

“Ana,” he chimed, his voice light and falsely cheerful, as though we were old friends meeting by chance. “How is this for seating?”

The words dripped with forced charm, and when he offered his hand across the table, I gingerly took it. The pressure of his grip was just enough to remind me that, for now, I had little choice but to follow the unspoken rules of this encounter.

As I pulled my hand away, tension thickened between us.

Then it happened—Carson, the driver, his eyes locked on my leg, widening. His hand clamped around my arm, pulling me roughly to my feet. The garter had shifted just enough to expose the blade strapped to my thigh. The motion caught me off guard, and I sucked in a gasp, muffling it before it could attract too much attention.

Grey, utterly unbothered, remained seated, calmly unfolding his napkin with the casual precision of a man rearranging chess pieces.

“What, Carson?” Grey sighed as if the interruption bored him.

Carson, ignoring my glare, tugged the hem of my dress higher, exposing the knife fully. I rolled my eyes, turning my head away in irritation. I could already feel exhaustion settling in, dragging me further into a state of dull impatience.

Before Carson could escalate things, I spotted a familiar bald figure rising from another table—Pin. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, a silent command for calm. I exhaled slowly, letting the tension slip from my tongue before I said something sharp.