Hit List

~chapter 2~

"Monsters are real. Ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."
- Stephen King    
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Noa

"No."

"God, why not? All you have to do is go and talk to her." Ezra made a series of gestures in the girl's general direction. His attempts at getting her attention were futile. Maybe because of the monstrous pair of sunglasses she wore, that caught the dimming streetlight. Maybe it was because her brother was the kind of person that you would cross the street to avoid.

"No. I can't do that. It isn't as simple for me. What if she's..."

"What if she's what?"

"What if she's straight?"

"But what if she's not. Come on, kid. You've gotta try. Please? For me?"

Noa looked at Ezra. Twin snakebites adorned his lower lip. He was smirking, but his eyes were genuine.

"No." She said, and turned on her heel towards their apartment block.

"Fine." He trod on her toe with a studded boot. "But don't blame me when you live on your own, with 3 cats and nothing in the fridge, crying because you'll never find love."

"Your life story, not mine. The only romantic relationship you've ever had was between you and the posters on your wall."

"Not even I, a perfectly straight guy with no soul, can resist their charms."

Noa rolled her eyes as they neared the building. She pushed open the two-way glass door at the entrance of the apartment block. Black ballpoint pen had been painstakingly inked onto the back of her hand that morning. Smudged moons and stars. Closest she'd probably ever get to a tattoo.

As soon as they walked in, residents suddenly became very interested in their own conversations. She grinned. What a pair they made. Black jeans, black boots, black jackets. She might as well have been holding a sign that said 'Troubled Teens, Here To Play Loud Music And Summon The Devil!' She gave them a wink and hummed as she climbed up the metal stairs.

She opened the door and kicked off her shoes, fishing her phone out of her pocket and collapsing on the leather sofa. Ezra ordered a Chinese.

He sat in the armchair opposite her, chewing a stick of gum, "Noa. We've got to talk."

"About what?"

"About this." He leaned forward. "You can't feel sorry for yourself. I've gotten over it. Mum and dad have gotten over it. It's time for you to get over it. Not liking dudes doesn't mean that you can't pay attention at college. It doesn't mean that you can just shut yourself in your room and forget to sleep and eat for god knows how long."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself." She shot at him. "You try realising that you'll never really fit in. You try realising that you won't be able to walk a foot without people's eyes boring into the back of you."

Ezra scoffed. "Honey, please. Don't think that it's any different for me. It's difficult to chat up girls when you look like Death in his awkward teenage years."

"At least you can help it! At least you can try to be normal."

"Whoever said I wanted to be normal." He got up and walked to the door. "I'm going to pick up the food. See you later." He opened the door and left it ajar. She wanted to scream at him.

She slammed it closed, and curled back into the indentation she'd made on the couch.

Someone knocked on the door.