Subject Me To Love [Book Two]

Chapter Twenty

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Chapter 20– Carefully careless:

I've always had good common sense. Despite popular belief, I'm not an idiot. All because I spell, pronounce and read things differently than others, does not mean I lack knowledge. I am great with numbers, and science has always been a strong subject of mine. I'm good at drawing and I have a good memory... when I want to.

However, I am careless. Recklessly so. Jace has always warned me it will get me into trouble one of these days, and I seriously didn't doubt that. It isn't that I'm not careful— I am. I'm careful with staying under the radar, I'm careful when I'm doing things I'm not meant to be doing to avoid getting caught, I'm careful when I drive (in my own way), and I'm also careful when I torture people; as straight forward as it sounds, it's not. A lot of thought has to go into it. I need to be careful of what arteries are where in case I nick one and they die too soon.

I'm careful and careless at the same time.

Carefully careless, I like to call it.

But when it comes to cleaning up after myself, I'm not always great at it.

I'm a clean person. I shower at least twice a day, sometimes more if I feel like it, and I'm always washing my hands, even if it's just with hand sanitiser. I'm extra aware when it comes to germs and I don't go around touching (dirty) surfaces if I don't need to.

But when it comes to mess? I let Jace deal with it. I hate washing the dishes— sometimes I throw glasses and plates away if I can't be bothered to wash them up. I hate washing my clothes— again, sometimes I'll throw items of clothing away if I can't be assed to do a wash load. And I can't stand sweeping, hoovering, or moping.

        Because, lets face it, the reality of the situation is, I wasn't trained to become a fucking house wife, I was trained to kill people. Two very different things. I don't know exactly what they was training me for, but that doesn't matter. What matters is, I was trained for a purpose that involved being good with my hands, light on my feet, quick with my decisions, and precise with a gun.

So, when I stare down at the body drained of blood and pale in colour, I grimace at the mess it makes, knowing I have two options— which are both as bad as each other.

I can either clean it up myself, knowing it would be a hard task and most likely half-assed. Or, I can call Jace and have him clean it up for me, knowing I'd have to listen to him scream and shout and withhold himself from strangling me, but also having the assurance that he'd leave absolutely no trace of evidence of what happened here tonight.

        Which would I prefer?

I mull it over for a few more minutes, pacing back and forth in front of the corpse on the ground. It's around eleven o'clock, so while it's not exactly the earliest, there are still a few people roaming around and anyone could wander into the park and see me muttering to myself, suspiciously close to a dead man, with a gun in my hand. And although these basic humans are not the smartest, in my opinion, it wouldn't take them much to piece the parts of the puzzle together.

        It would probably take them a while, but they'd get there.

"Fuck me I'm going to regret this," I sigh under my breath as I throw the gun on the floor and use my phone to pull Jace's contact up, reluctantly pressing the call option. I listen to the noise my phone makes as I wait for my overbearing housemate to pick up and become more anxious as the seconds go by.