"What's a sweet woman like you doing here all by herself?" His voice is low and raspy, it's hot. He reaches down and tucks a strand of my hair behind my left ear, waiting for my reply.
"I'm not sweet. Go back to your table." I tell him firmly. A gl...
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The average human male has around 5.5 litres of blood circulating their body at any given moment.
The first time I saw a dead body, I realised just how much blood 5.5 litres is. It sounds like a small amount, but really it's quite a lot.
It's much easier to get a grip on just how much it is when it's covering you from head to toe, when it's in your hair, under your nails, soaked into your clothes and dripping down your skin like raindrops do.
Blood has a distinct smell as well; lots of people agree it smells of rust because of the iron in our bodies but I think after time you become accustomed to the smell until it's untraceable to you. It becomes just another daily scent. I guess you could say you become 'nose blind' or whatever those flashy detergent adverts always say.
It doesn't bother me anymore, even at times like now, when I'm covered in 3 times those 5.5 litres.
"Here." Zayn's hard voice brings me back to the present moment as he passes me a spare T-Shirt and a towel. "You need to clean up before getting in my car."
I roll my eyes, he's always so precious about his car, it's irritating. I take the towel anyway and start wiping away the blood that coats my hands and splattered across my face. Even after I wipe it off, there's a pinkish tint left on my skin; I'm going to need to properly shower this off later.
I pass the towel back to Zayn who tucks it in the trunk of car to dispose of later. He turns away respectfully and pretends to busy himself arranging the bags of drugs we collected this evening, so that I can have the chance to peel my black corset top off my body and replace it with the clean shirt Zayn gave me.
It engulfs me, hanging loosely over my frame and covering over the blood smell I carried, with the smell of Zayn; smoke mixed with hints of mint and citrus. The odd combination has become comforting to me over the years.
I fold my bloody shirt and tuck it away with the towel. I tap Zayn's shoulder gently to indicate I'm finished. He turns back around slowly with a small grin, "Much better. Now let's get out of here, yeah?"
"Please," I say as I make my way to the usual passenger side door and open it, sinking my body into the leather seat.
Zayn gets into the seat beside me after slamming his trunk closed, he shoves the key into the ignition and pulls his sunglasses down from his head and over his eyes. Once again, I find myself rolling my eyes in irritation at the supposedly hip vibe he is attempting to personify.
"I'm playing music," I grumble as I connect my phone to the car on Bluetooth. I tune out his likely witty response and play the first playlist I see.
Tonight's task wasn't anything special or new; we were given intel on a drug deal taking place on the edge of town at the hands of the Californians and so of course, Zayn and I were sent to intercept the drugs and money and of course to cause as much damage to our rivals as possible.
