Short Stories

Twelve

He sit beside me, ever so still.
My scalp sent shivers cascading down my neck, traveling down to my calf muscles, and eventually, spread out evenly in one little pulse of the heart.

He lay his hand upon mine, making my bottom jaw vibrate against the thin layer of saliva that remains between the enamel layering of my teeth, in my closed mouth.
He lay his second hand directly on my cheek, not hesitating to see my reaction.

He drags his eyes from a narrowed perspective to a dazed wonder of the future, what pain has in store for him. His eyes tell his story. I can see through those hazel eyes just as simply as you can see through glass or perhaps... Crystal.

I rubbed the diamond that lay melded against silver metal.
I didn't want this, really.

The night he asked me to meet him, was the night I planned to tell him everything. Two years it's been my lifestyle, and he deserves to know. Four years, we've been dating.

He knows not my occupation, nor he knows the real me. I frown against the thought. Who is the real me, after all?
Simple things, such as a favourite colour, movie, hobby, this man knows.
He knows less than he thinks.

Who am I? I contemplate severely on this question, the seemingly unending thought.

I am Isabella. I treasure those around me, unless they provoke a side of me that I've kept secret. People like this man. He seems a harmless nature, but can fight like no man I've seen before. He can keep me safe, hidden from my enemies.

That night of the proposal, I choose one of the man's favourite shirts of mine, as if that would make the situation easier. I wear a blue shirt that is patterned with a white paisley design.

I slip on my short red wig, hiding my brown hair. I put in my blue contacts and put on makeup. With the struggle of the wig, and adding everything else onto the equation, I had used up exactly one hour, with ten minutes to spare before I had to go.

I daren't sit to think for my intentions will wander to having second thoughts. I will want to skip, I will want to cower before the truth. No lies have been told to this man, only simple facts about my life at home.

I go to college like every other normal girl of twenty-three. I spend the rest of my time at home. Studying or cooking. Sometimes shopping is included, but only at cheaper places such as winners.
I rarely spend time outside of my apartment.

Most people do not realize how much of a danger they are to each other. Some are plotting, others are clueless.

I hang over the bed, my head hitting the carpeted flooring. The bobby pins thankfully hold in the wig as I blot upright, forgetting the existence of the wig.

My phone buzzes an alarm of the date. I had no idea what to expect, all I knew was, I was never going to be ready for telling him the truth.

I sit carefully at the table covered with a satin red cloth. Champagne is served before my first breath is taken. The man who sits across from me is Dan Carey. His eyes shine with hope and wonder.

I take a sip from my champagne, feeling the cool but ugly taste of the alcohol swirl between my tastebuds. Suddenly a cold solid makes its way past my teeth and gums, and I cough.

I spit out the substance onto my palm and look at Dan. The crazy man. I stare in horror at the diamond ring that I'd just choked on, and wondered whose idea was it to put it in a crystal glass filled with alcohol.

The sorry idiot.

He looks at me with a bright smile. He kneels before me.

"Would you, Isabella Morta, Marry me? You have the ability to make me laugh again even after the events of my past."

My eyebrows knit together in sorrow, but think about how well it would turn out if this man accepted my work and my objectives.

"Yes," I whimper with happiness as he hugs me close and dearly.

He slapped a check on the table and dragged me out of he restaurant with everybody watching.

He brought me to a grass hill during sunset, and took out a camera. I sat upon a soft blanket that lay overtop the grass. I grin happily, thinking about what should happen next.

I plot my words in my mind as I want to tell him of the organization I work for. I am happy that he wants to marry me. I am happy that I am able to wed, and still be safe. I am no coward to the truth, so I shall admit to him my job I've had for the past two years.

The people at my work truly accept me, and I accept them. I put effort into my everyday actions.

I turn around, smiling and I am met by a flash  of his camera.

I smile as I lean over on his shoulder and see his vintage camera spit out a developing picture.

I sigh, knowing it's time for show and tell as the stars wake with brilliant winking lights.
I sit up from having my head on his chest, and look over at him.

There's nothing to worry about, Bella, you're completely fine.

"So... I think I should tell you what I do for a living..."
He sits up as well, clearly intrigued.

"I thought you were a realtor?"

"I lied," I state with no emotion, afraid to show anything,"I work for a corporation that allows me to have many enemies."

I try to sound straightforward and to the point, but it all sounds so cliché, as if I'm an actor in a crappy spy film.

He sits straighter, ready for an explanation.

"I am an assassin, and I study human interactions and behaviours, emotions, and reactions at a secret facility that is highly confidential due to coordinates."
There. I said it.

My hand leads itself to my waist where I kept my holstered gun and knife after Dan showed signs of anger. I guess we both didn't see the real people we were dating.

I understood his anger, but the radiation waves of disbelief and distrust flowed off of his skin.
Suddenly two me, dressed in casual wear came from behind and captured Dan. They held him in headlock, as one of them drew a knife from his pocket.

"We have orders from the head commissioner himself to protect you to whatever costs necessary," the tallest stated.

He took his knife and pressed it, blade down on Dan's wrist watch, spectating it precisely before Dan lashed out and slid out from under the man's grip causing the blade to slice more than two layers of skin from his wrist to his shoulder.

The bleeding wouldn't stop as I pressed my hands to his wound. One of the two men bring out their phone, and soon the police and ambulance men jump into action, taking the body from my grasp.

I wonder, if life would've solved itself, healed, even, if those men hadn't intercepted.

I had hoped for the best for Dan, attending at his bedside as blood flows into his body and an IV bag at the ready.

Until two weeks have past I've spent my time in the hospital all day, and all night.
I eventually realized that I couldn't waste anymore time.

I left my ring in his hand as I exited past the bright wavy curtains of the cool and bright room of Dan's.

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