He's death for hire...
Some people measure life in hours. Days. Weeks. I measure mine in kills. A covert military mission gone wrong robbed me of my memory and any link to my past. This is my existence now. I execute and survive. Nothing more, nothi...
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ISABEL
"I'm going to the store. Can I get you anything?"
I overenunciate each word and take in the wide-eyed stares from my classroom of students. They attend the Horizonte Centre to learn English, and I have the unfair advantage of being fluent in their native language as well as my own.
Ramona, a teenager from a nearby secondary school, raises her hand. "Can you get for me a loaf of bread?"
I smile because she's progressed quickly in my class but also because I recognize my drive in her. That drive to excel, paired with an affinity for language, had in some ways saved me. Language had healed me. Ultimately, it had given me a ticket to run away.
"Of course. Anything else?"
I glance around the room for other participants. I sense someone's eyes on me and turn my head. Kolt is standing in the doorway. He looks fresh wearing his expensive blue jeans, a pale-blue collared shirt, and a cocky grin, as if I didn't blatantly shoot him down just hours ago.
"Bom dia, amigos."He flits his gaze around the classroom and then nods to me, his smirk deepening. "Senhorita Foster."
I want to be mad, but he makes it difficult. I can only muster mild annoyance. "English only in my classroom, Mr. Mirchoff."
"Lunch?"
I want to admonish him for clearly flirting with me in front of my students. They smile and share knowing looks. I think they enjoy this pretend romance that most of the school and its staff believe we have. I think they also enjoy when I play hard to get.
"We have ten more minutes of class. I suggest you get back to work. Tchau."
I flip my hand in his direction and move to the whiteboard to highlight some new vocabulary.
"Now, who brought their recipe homework today?"
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting across from Kolt at the outdoor café. I'm devouring my sandwich while he picks at a pastry beside an emptied cup of coffee.
"How are you feeling?"
I look up, wide-eyed. "I'm fine, why?"
He follows the curve of the cup with his finger. "Well, after all those caipirinhas last night, I thought it might be a rough morning for you."
I pretend like I don't hear him. We both know the truth anyway.
"Can I take you out tonight? Dinner maybe?"
I shake my head. "The city is too crazy right now. Maybe next week sometime after things calm down."
That would also buy me time to figure out what to do with him. Because a real relationship isn't in the cards for me right now.
