Sleep definitely didn't come easily after the Lopez hit, but even if it arrived or not, I needed some space. The hit had gone perfectly, all the pieces fell into place and all persons who were intended targets had been eliminated. Jackson and Grant had set the murder suicide scene in Tom's office, complete with his finger prints on the gun whilst I finished off Lopez. We piled back into the elevator and played the part as we arrived on the ground floor. We earned our Oscars as we alerted the security group in a panicked state of what had happened upstairs. With them being so consumed in getting up there to protect Lopez, we slipped away and with the cameras on loop, we were never really there.
Applauds were given and shared amongst the group upon our arrival back to the bunker, but I quickly detached myself from the celebrations. We weren't in the clear yet and the chances of us being clear were outweighed by the odds that we would be caught. I made that clear to everyone before I left the main area of the bunker to one of the many smaller rooms in the breakaway hallways of the world war base. They continued with their congratulations, none of this would have been possible without their help so they deserve it. But for me, I never celebrate.
I headed straight back to my designated room and locked my door behind me. With me alone and finally having some alone time, I unzip my overalls down the centre of my torso before letting the one piece fall from my frame revealing a vest and a pair of shorts. Using one hand, I pull out the hair tie that holds up my bun and my newly browned hair falls loose against my back. I let my head tilt back as I inhale and exhale a large, relieving breath as I feel instantly less contradicted and confined. Leaving the overall on the ground, I walk through my windowless room to the equally as windowless bathroom. The old features of the room remain untouched yet they work, so I make use of them. I approach the old ceramic sink and run the cold tap. Water splutters from the faucet before calming into a steady stream. I run my hands under the cold water before lowering my face down and splashing my features. The cold water soaks into every pore as I repeat the action. I let the water drip off my face before I turn off the flow and lift my head back up. In the ancient mirror above the sink, I stare at myself. My youthful features seem weighed down by the stress of my current situation. The light bags under my eyes are emphasised by my pale complexion. My eyes automatically drift to the more obvious features that are now a part of my body. My scars. My vibrant emerald eyes locate the healed but badly scarred circle of the gun shot wound. Jackson's work I recall as I reminisce on how I still think he deliberately shot my shoulder instead of my head. Over and over again it was stitched but was subsequently reopened multiple times. Infection had set in by time I made it to the hospital, Mason had ensured it never got time to heal whilst he had me. This leads onto the other scars that lay scattered across my chest. Slashes take up most of the space with at least ten in view from the skin exposed from my vest. They are all still red and protrude on top of my skin, obvious and visible. There go dresses I conclude as I away from the mirror, not liking what I see.
Feeling the need to leave the earth for a few hours, a nap calls out to me. Remaining in my vest and shorts, I approach the rackety old bed that sits in the corner of the crusty old room. Somehow though, this feels better than a shady and sketchy motel room in a seedy town. With little thought, I pull the light covers backwards before climbing in. I pull them up to my chest again as I lay on my back. I feels good to get back into the game I tell myself, good to get back to what I am good at. Executions. Despite Lopez being the person who started this shit show, his death only provides a minute amount of satisfaction. Moore will give a little more contentment and undoubtedly a lot for the guys. However the cherry on my cake will be Mason and it will always be Mason. The main antagonist to my story, his death will be perfect.
With the scene playing out in my head, I drift off into a much needed slumber. Of only for a few hours, they will fuel me for days if needs be. The body is a wonderful thing, it can endure so much hardship however our minds can endure so much more.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl Behind The Bullets
Action~BOOK TWO~ It's been five and half months since the events in Cuba, since me, The Black Swan, escaped again. I left The Company, it was the best decision for me and the company so now I'm free lance. People pay me to get the job done and that's h...
