Facade

I slug my arm onto my bedside table, with the alarm drowning out the police sirens. I force my eyes to open as I squint to make out what time it is. My phone glared at an alarming time of 10:47, meaning that I missed the first 47 minutes of class. I groan out loud and tumble out of my bed onto the floor. I start to crawl towards the bathroom but give up three-quarters the way there. I grab my phone, hidden between the folds of the sheets, and quickly write an apology email to my professor. I lay on the floor for another 13 minutes before moving. I shuffle my feet towards my desk and pick up my treasured planner. I sigh as I cross off, wake up at 6 and go to class at 10. My eyes roam across the page as the bullet points rack up with To-Do’s. I grab the closest pile of crumpled clothes near me and change while walking towards the door. By the time I reach the lobby, I successfully look like a preppy high school student. I nod towards the doorman and step onto the concrete streets of New York City. My earbuds get shoved into my ears and are now subjected to intense, blasting music. I quickly change my aura from light to dark to avoid unwanted questions. I run down the steps as I strain to hear the sound of trains moving with the swish-swish.

As my MetroCard is accepted at the booth, I see the train leave and slow down, panting. I settle down in one of those brown, woody seats and open my planner. As my eyes scan through the impending To-Do’s, my attention was stolen by a single one: kill Senator Brown’s son, William. My head begins to rack with the reasons as to why he was chosen, why the model son of the perfect senator. While I technically knew that there had to be something wrong in that family since nobody is perfect, I could hardly see in a parallel universe something that would get them killed. I sigh and close my planner, internally planning the how, when, where, and why. It’d be easier to fulfill since he’s my classmate, and I could create a multitude of reasons as to why he should spend time with me in the night. The train slows down to a stop in front of me and I gather myself to board, before I see him. I shake my head and get on, sitting next to him. While sighing, I ask, “How’d you know?”

“Phone”, he responds.

“Right. I forgot”, I say sarcastically. He shoots me a disapproving look and sighs under his breath.

“I just wanted to remind you to not be behind your quota for this year”, he says as my eyes widen. “I know we agreed that last year you did too much, but I’m noticing that everything seems to be quiet?”

“Are you kidding me right now? You were the one who said that I had to cut back, even though I wrote amazing stories! You do not have the right to complain.” He nods and becomes meek, and I instantly regret my outlash. “I’ll have a story ready by tonight. I, also, am getting bored”, I say in hopes of making him happy.

“Great! I’ll see you tonight”, he says as he exits the train. I glance around me, confirming the loss of suspicions. As I wait for my stop, I go through countless stories for each To-Do. I decide on William, noting that my absence in class would be perfect. I get off at the 86th street train station and head towards my cover, the Dalton School. I check the time as I step on the first step towards the door, 11:13am. I slip into my mask of happiness, stretching my face and mouth into a radiant smile that I could only imagine to be painful. I take the elevator up to the 7th floor and peer into the on-going class. I sigh before locking eyes with William, who smirks upon seeing my arrival. I bring my index finger up to my lips and wink. I walk backwards to the elevator, knowing that I would regret ditching when being scolded later by him.

I embrace the cold slap of the wind outside and head towards the Barnes & Noble on 86th and Lex. I immerse myself in the fantastical stories embedded in books along with terrible coffee from the indoor Starbucks. My alarm of 3:00pm blares in the otherwise quiet and cozy bookstore and I give my surroundings apologetic looks. I quickly finish the last chapter and head out. While waiting for my Uber, I sent William a text, asking to meet me on the rooftop of my apartment building at 7pm. He quickly agrees, asking if it’s to make up for my missing knowledge. I reply, obvs, and aggressively start waving towards my Uber so I wouldn’t have to walk extra. I’m dropped off, 30 minutes later after tuning out the world, at L.A. Burdick’s on Prince St. I order their Chocolate Mice and Drinking Chocolate before heading to my internship at the Mizuma & Kips art gallery. I waste time people-watching before actually working on researching the upcoming exhibitions. I head home to The Continental and manage to get there by 6:47pm. I quickly put a smidge of red lipstick on and change into a low v-neck casual dress. I get a ping from him asking who, when, and where. I text him the deets, aware of his impatience. I text William, telling him to call me once he’s arrived in the lobby, only to receive an immediate phone call. I scoff and reject his incoming call. I head downstairs to pick him up, making sure to put on an insufferable, shiny white smile. “Hi! Thanks for helping me catch up.”, I say dutifully.

“But of course. I feel as if I should.”, he responds with a wink. I give him a larger smile, internally cringing inside. I bring him up to the roof, with my necessities already hidden inside a potted plant. We sit on the floor and make small talk for a bit, the tension dancing within our bubbly drinks. I smile and flirt, waiting for the clock to hit 7, begging practically. Just as the big hand of the clock makes it official, I smile and say, ”So, what did you learn in class?”

“Ah, not much except that there’s an artist named Angela Dufresne and that she’s pretty fire, in my opinion”, he says chuckling.

“Hmm”, my eyes crinkling to make him feel more at ease. “Well, the GHB should just about hit you. Any second now!”

“Wait, you drugged me?! Why would you drug me?” he yells at me.

“Well, since you’re bigger and heavier than me, it’s easier to subdue you this way than wasting my makeup and possibly ruining my clothes by trying to physically overpower you”, I state. “Anyways, this just makes clean-up wayyy easier for me and no offense, but I care more about me”, I state with a placid smile. “Sweet dreams Will.”, as his eyes begin to shut drowsily. I quickly get to work, going through his belongings for any indication that he was meeting me or the place that we were at. I plant fake texts in his phone that would place him in Brooklyn Heights at 9pm, asking if people had Coke. I delete anything involving me, pictures, contact, messages, social media platforms, everything. While jamming things back into his black leather bag, I noticed a curiously new black notebook.

I ran my fingers along the cover, a smooth velvety leather texture. I sniff it, noting that it could only have been bought no more than a few days ago. I remove the elastic closure, nosy and curious as to what he could have brought. I was about to laugh at the assumption he brought notes on Angela Dufresne’s artwork, when I recognized the contents to hit a little too close to home. I whip around in shock, staring at him. Was he also a contract killer? Did he, a contract killer, hire another contract killer to kill him for only $20,000? Was he suicidal? I quickly shake my head, losing that last thought. Every one of us was suicidal to a certain degree, so that didn’t apply to this certain problem. I racked my brain for 3.18 minutes, knowing that I was losing time on making a decision on his motive, his awakening and his impending death. And then, little bits of information I’ve heard fell into place. There have been rumors that more and more employees have been quitting, but it didn’t bother me so much since I wasn’t. But now I know his motive, and it’s time for this game to end. I gather all of his belongings, except the book, and throw a lighter into the mix. There was no point in trying to cover up my tracks since his employer would take care of that mess. I stab zolpidem into his arms, as Ambien can occasionally wake people up from vegetative states, which Will was currently in (hehe). And I would normally leave them in that state, but I need some answers.

“Will? Wake up. Now! I know what you’re doing off-the-books now and that me waking you up is a ‘potentially’ dangerous and risky move on my end, but I’m cocky that we’ll get through this. Sorry, I meant me”, I smile coldly towards him.

“Well, if you know what I’m doing, why am I awake?”

“Because I am going to go on a rant and all I need is for you to nod. You obviously went through some recent trauma or something to trigger your sudden need to kill off your peers/competition. I don’t know what that trauma is nor do I care. Secondly, based on the names and account numbers crossed off in this book, you’ve only confronted men so far. Am I your first?” I mockingly ask him.

“Well, you could be my first in everything”, he responds with a wink. My insides churn, with bile and vomit threatening to leave my throat.

“I will not lie. That was so disgusting that I wanted to throw up on you”, my face says scrunched up. “Anyways, I’ve figured out that you want me to be your little partner in crime. Well, thank you so much for the offer! But, no thank you. I’m quite content with my little life, or rather my new large inheritance thanks to you”, I smirkingly say. His eyes go big with shock, confirming that he didn’t plan that factor. “Just because I smiled and platonically flirted doesn’t mean I actually have feelings for you. God, why can’t boys get that! It’s like double standards, boys can be players like that but girls have to be nuns. Whatever, I gotta go live my new life. See you in hell someday, Will!” I turn around to walk off, but felt something come inside in both my left leg and upper chest. Smirking, I turn around to match his confusion. “Oh, sorry. I must’ve forgotten to tell you. I’m not screaming in pain right now and bowing down to you in submission because I have congenital analgesia.” His eyes widen with both fear and understanding. “That’s right! You messed with a girl who’s not only a psychopath and sociopath, but also can’t feel physical pain. I’m a real catch. Like I said, see you in hell.” I shoot him dead center in the forehead and another in the heart to confirm the unlikely chance of survival.

I text my employer, mentioning a change in plans. The update he wanted would wait until I was in the beautiful sights of Paris, a new city to frighten.