The day started with that pleasant sunny vibe, that type you'd get if you spent a day lazing on a beach, enjoying a martini, the warm sunshine on your face and body, cool ocean breeze, sparkling waters glittering in a distance, watching happy people running up and down the sandy beach and couples walking hand in hand, enjoying the taste of delicious seafood. There's such a day like that, isn't there?
It wasn't your Monday's here again day, time for school, ugh, work; it was more like it's the weekend type of feeling. The type that signified the start of more fun, time to party, and a time to hang out with friends.
Hi, I'm Selene, a twenty years old Spaniard from Menorca, I don't exactly know the reason for my Greek name, it's not like we choose our names when we're born, it's given to us, and whether we like it or not we're supposed to answer it.
Anyways, I woke up today with a lighter feeling, something I hadn't felt in years of my existence, my traumatizing past an almost forgotten existence as I bounced about chirpily doing my morning routine.
My wardrobe offered a wide range of selection of clothes so I just pulled whatever out and hoped they formed a decent fashion style, not that I cared about that sort of thing, if you lived the life that I had, you wouldn't either, trust me.
The task that took most of my time when I did my morning routine was combing my hair. My hair was purely wavy, black from the root to the tip, it didn't have a different shade and I kept it long not because I wanted it that way but because I was always busy working trying to provide myself with something to eat that I didn't have time to visit a hairdresser. People say it bounced, I'd say it always loved to annoy me, it would find inappropriate times to enter my cup of tea or hot chocolate or my food or enter my eyes or my mouth, like can you just imagine the taste of hair in your mouth, urgh, hair soup, yuck!
I dragged a comb through the thick folds and pulled at the strands, after minutes of attacking the hair, I uttered a groan and let it be, no matter how hard I tried my hair would never straighten, and worse I even got a migraine from all the pulling.
Sometimes I wish I was born with straight hair, the type that was easy to tuck behind the ears, smooth and silky, but sadly I wasn't.
I had to admit, the only thing I didn't like about my physical appearance was my hair, all other things were pretty much okay.
Not too tall or short, and I worked a lot so I was on the less body fat side, I was not thin, I had blue eyes a mixed color of the sea and sky blue or so I was told, I don't even know the exact color of my own eyes, I was tanned in complexion thanks to a lot of exposure from work and home. I was the type that movie directors would say she has the potential to be an A-lister model or actress, the only problem with that was I wasn't too fond of cameras, yep, I was camera shy and I also dreaded every form of collective attention.
For one time back in high school, a nerd thought a good way to get me to say yes to a school dance was to ask me, knees bent, flowers in hand, in the cafeteria in front of the whole school. I tell you that day gave me the chills of my life, even recalling it still gave me chills.
Millions of eyes stuck to my skin, expecting an answer to a question asked by a seventeen-year-old undergoing his first stages of puberty and what did I do? I'm pretty sure you can guess.
People would say it's just me being shy, but I don't think they understand that sometimes being shy doesn't even come close to describing that feeling of millions of eyes on you, it makes you want to hide, some people pray for the earth to swallow them, I always pray for a distraction and the quickest possible way of escape because the earth opening up to swallow someone is a bit too much.
My preferences in life are much dulled for a twenty-year-old lady. I'm not the fashion type like I said, I didn't have diet plans or sleepover weekend plans with friends, I didn't even have friends, then again if you want to know why you'd have to know about my past, it's not a happy childhood story with prancing ponies eating floating apples that give superpowers.
Now I'm going to stop focusing on the bad part of life and laze about the merits of being alive, because a wise man once said, a live dog is better than a dead lion, which is true of course.
My my, look at the time.
I'm going to be late for work, I better get going, breakfast first.
My brother's house is ten to fifteen times bigger than mine. I lived in a small apartment with leaky walls and roof, and dilapidated wooden windows that coughed up dust, and termite carvings every morning. It was fun to watch the termites work, sometimes I reward them with something for their hard work, it wasn't easy to sustain oneself, think then of an entire colony, they didn't rest or have weekdays, they were simply amazing like the ants. They had their separate territory in my house, one that no termite crossed for the fear of being collected as food for their queen.
While the termites ruled my window sill and doors, the ants ruled almost every corner, if not every.
I didn't let spiders stay though, the thought of the predator hanging about all day and jumping up on unsuspecting ants or termites passing by annoyed me to a great extent. It was like the lazy eating, and there was no food for the lazy, man or spider.
As I walk down the staircase, I run my hand against the smooth wooden banister of the staircase railing, not a single hole.
I followed the sound of thumping to the kitchen.
"Good–"
I could only stop and stare as I watched my brother brisk up trying to stop a toasted bread from burning the kitchen table and, a discarded plate of half burnt Bacon and half-cooked eggs lay on the table. He was a terrible chef, very terrible. I never called anyone terrible, even starting cooks, but he was.
Even cereals were like cuisine meals to him.
"What are you doing?"
"Hey. Good morning"
"Fine morning to you too"
I glance at the burnt toast bread and then back at him.
"What's that?"
"I was trying to make breakfast. I don't know why the bread got burnt, I just put the gas cooker on a few minutes ago"
I check the burner control knob of the gas cooker to discover them raised to the highest, seriously?
"Were you trying to roast it or burn it? The knob was at the highest"
"Really?" He leans over and takes a look, then he gives me his, I'm not so good at this look, to which I just shake my head.
He shows me the plate of bacon and eggs.
"What?"
"I'm a terrible chef"
At least he knew and was blunt about it.
"At least you didn't burn it completely"
"Not a very nice way to cheer me up"
I scoffed.
"I could teach you"
"Please do so"
"First of all, tell me. Why do you want to learn how to cook?"
"Because I want to be able to make tasty meals. This is better, I don't have to pay and you can have me teach me whenever you're less busy"
What makes him think that he would ever learn how to? He hasn't even learned how to toast bread since he started learning.
"Please?" His sincerity to learn is amazing, not many men care since it's mostly considered a woman's thing but there's nothing wrong with a man learning to cook, even if it's something as basic as frying eggs or making an omelet.
I find men even more attractive if they can prepare something appetizing, I'm sure ninety-five percent of women agree with this same trait.
There's just something sexy about a man in an apron that gives off this certain sexual appeal.
I teach Kelvin a simple breakfast of fried eggs while I make other things like toast bread and coffee.
He watched closely and then tried a few, some of which he failed and some that were decent enough to eat but lacking salt.
"I think I've gotten the hang of it"
"Slow novice"
Kelvin only flicked my nose and continued to admire his work.
"Next time just leave the cooking to me, you can watch and practice"
"Are you ready? I'll take you to work. I have a case today, so I'll stay out late"
After breakfast, Kelvin drove me to Dusty's in his silver Mercedes car.
Mariah welcomed me with a cup of coffee, such a lovely girl, we were the same age and she was also a student like myself, soon to be a student like myself.
I feel it comforting that someone is my age around here, not that the rest of the crew weren't nice, they seemed like a nice friendly bunch, except Troy that looked like an ex-convict, but the rest were pretty amicable with something in common, a strong like for my 'Bachelor' brother.
I follow Mariah to the staff room where the crew is gathered, eleven people including me.
We were just about to start when a knock sounds on the door. Was there someone else that worked here and was absent yesterday? I doubt it, the faces of the crew told me they weren't expecting anyone.
I and the crew hear Lena gasp as she opens the door, she steps back in fright and turns to face us, her face pale white and her eyes glazy and looking extremely shocked.
The man at the door mumbles something about his Boss wanting to see us.
Why were Lena and the Crew becoming agitated?
We walk out the door in a single line, weird.
The minute my eyes fall on him, my whole world erupts into a scatter of frenzied atoms.
A very handsome man lounges comfortably on a couch in our VIP section.
His raven dark hair flutters slightly in the air, I can't bring myself to look away even for the slightest of moments.
He was dressed in black but I got a good peek at how his white shirt hugged those well-developed and rounded pectoral muscles. If this man probably starred as the villain in a Disney movie, I can bet my fortune the princess would leave her prince charming and run after him, he was drop-dead gorgeous, and he gave off bad boy vibes, except his was more intense, he was all man from the chiseled jaw to his muscular structure even down to his long legs, nothing about how authors portrayed bad boys fit the way to describe him, everything about him screamed I'm dangerous, from the guns he kept tucked safely in the hostler attached just below his chest, to the tattoos that crept from somewhere beneath all that cloth up his neck and arms down to his fingers, to the look in his eyes and the firm determination set in his jaw.
His eyes roam over the crew and then land on me.
I clutch my hand to prevent myself from running a hand into my wavy nest of hair.
Please be looking at someone behind me, please be looking at someone behind me.
Hot damn, he was looking at me.
Behave normally.
You know that feeling when you know someone so handsome can't fall in love with you but you still behave as though he has just because he glanced at you and to soothe some inwardly hidden ego, that's what I'm doing right now.
Too bad reality is cold and cruel.
"Where are my files?"
His words are accompanied by a torrent of cold air, cold enough to freeze my frenzied atoms, cold enough to freeze the desert in midday. Imagine someone crystallizing hot air into ice, that's how it feels like.
His...His files?
What files?
"W...what?"
My eyes widen as I hear the click of the hammer of a gun next to my ear.
The messenger man has his gun pointed to the back of my head, his finger set on the trigger.
•••
How did it get to this? What files are they even talking about, I'm sure now that you're as confused as I am, so why don't I start from the very top, back to the very beginning of how I ended up as minced meat for the world's most dangerous Mafia group?