Microwaved Love

9|

"Who?"

Lying never had come easily to me, so I suppose it is no surprise that the lie that comes out of my mouth sounds so wrong and false, even to my own ears, that the people surrounding me give each other satisfied looks and just plain creepy grins.

"You know who we're talking about," the man with the squashed nose laughs.

The light in his eyes scares me. The calloused, hard fists that he has for hands scare me. The step that he takes forward and the lingering once over that he gives me scares me.

But there is no room for fear. I can't feel frightened. I swallow and straighten up, trying to stand taller and to not feel as intimidated by the people around me.

"No. I don't." I answer coolly. Well as coolly as my racing heartbest and sweaty palms which I discreetly wipe against my pants allow me to.

Squashed nose's eyes narrow and a hard light appears in them. He smiles again, but this smile is just about as warm as my feet on a bitterly cold winter night without the comfort of two pairs of woolly socks. It doesn't reach his eyes or show any emotion. It is merely the simple twisting of his lips that could easily pass for a grimace.

"Listen here," he says, still smiling the same sick smile. "The thing is, we have some unfinished business with him and we're just looking for a way to get in contact. There's no use trying to lie to us. We know you just saw his cousin a few minutes ago. We weren't planning on hurting you, and we won't if you do what we say."

His hand reaches out, catching a lock of my hair and twisting it in his fingers. There is a thoughtful look in his eyes now, which scares me even more than the harsh, cold one because I knew what to expect from that. I shudder and send him my best death glare.

"I'm leaving." I announce.

I yank myself away and step towards the gap of freedom between two brawly looking men which immediately vanishes.

A hand latches onto my shoulder, spinning me around and I find myself face to face with squashed nose. Well not exactly face to face, I mean he is a lot taller than I am.

"Didn't your mother raise you better? It's rude manners to walk away when somebody's talking to you." he says mockingly as he latches a hand onto my right arm.

The woman with the cigarette laughs at this, and turns away when her laugh quickly morphs into a loud, uncontrollable cough.

"Jaz, shut up," he says lowly.

There is silence for a while as he waits for her to finish her coughing fit. At some point he must have lost patience, and he must have given some kind of signal, because the man next to her delivers a swift punch to her stomach (which of course does nothing to help with the coughing) and another man seizes her by the arm and drags her away. 

Good news, there are three less people surrounding me in this circle.

Bad news, squashed nose could order for my death without batting an eyelid and everyone left here would jump to do his bidding without hesitation.

Suddenly my throat is very dry.

"What do you want?"

He reaches his other hand out to touch me again, but I slap his hand away boldly which makes his eyes narrow. His grip on my arm tightens painfully. He tilts my chin up roughly and pulls my hair back, grinning coldly before I can step back.

"It's actually quite simple really," he whispers harshly.

He yanks harder on my hair and I force myself to keep looking at him unflinchingly.