Crash and Burn

Three

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Maxwell at the side > 

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THREE

-Callista-

“I’m not happy with this.” Maxwell stated with a frown that had been more or less permanent on his face.

     Rolling my eyes, I kept on applying the make-up that was provided with my task. The blush had made my cheekbones more prominent, the mascara made my lashes look darker and longer. The black eye-liner I wore in my eyes made me look fierce and ready to pounce.

    I felt Maxwell’s presence behind me and sighed internally.

    He was unhappy with the set up. The thing was, Maxwell always accompanied me to any mission I was sent on. When things would go bad, he’d make me flee from the crime scene. Not like I listened anyway.

   He began rubbing soft circles on my shoulders. His hot breath sent a shiver through my body. Behind me, I felt his body vibrate into what seemed like a chuckle. He enjoyed knowing how he could make me feel.

   “Back off, Maxwell,” I murmured quietly, “As of tonight, I can’t do this with you. Not for a while anyway. I needed to be completely focused.”

   He scoffed, “I can’t believe he’s going to make you babysit that little prick. I’ll never understand why we can’t just finish him off and be done with it.”

    His words sent a sharp knife through my stomach. It was unlike Maxwell to speak harshly of killing. Granted, he’d already killed off more than his conscience can handle but I knew he had emotions and I knew he’d regret his words. Still, I kept my mouth shut, looking straight at the mirror at my finish product.

   I nearly let out a gasp. I looked like my mother.

   My brown hair was left in waves, stopping at my shoulders with a single, pin with little pearls encrusted in it holding my fringe back. Usually, my hair was tied up into a ponytail but under orders, I had to leave it down. The make-up made me look a lot more different—in fact, I can’t even recognize myself. Damn.

   The dress I wore was pale gold silk, hanging off my body and long enough that I would probably trip over it, if I hadn’t mastered the arts of wearing heels. I felt like a badass version of Cinderella, ready for a ball.

   The difference was, I would be meeting a prince to end his reign and the glass slipper I’d leave would most likely be a bullet to his chest.

   It hurt suddenly, to think of how much I looked like my mother but thought like a killer. Wouldn’t my parents be so proud of what I’d finally become?

   “Callista,” I heard a faraway voice call. “Cal,” It rang again.

   “What?” I asked, finally getting back to myself. It was unsafe to think of the past. All I could do was look towards the future. That was the only way I could even think of my freedom.

   “We’re being called up. Are you ready?”

   I sighed. No. but I have to be anyway. “Yeah. Yes, I’m ready.”

   Tonight, I would be Callista Watson once again. Tonight, I would have a name.

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