achromatic - m. clifford

"wounded heart & body"

Scarlett, dressed in a black skirt and white blouse, made her way up the avenue. The sky was clear, and the moon shone its pale light onto the innocent city below. The people moving back and forth on the crowded streets seemed to move beyond her, as if she were another obstacle. An object in their way. A barricade. An occasional man would whistle as her as he walked by, but she disregarded the attention and ignored it.

The hotel looked different tonight, not as vibrant and strewn about with people. The lights of the chandelier no longer reflected images of them slow dancing that night, in fact, the chandelier seemed to not reflect anything at all. She tried to block out those memories, forget about them. Forget about him. Yet she found herself coming back to the hotel every once in a while, much like tonight.

She just sat at the bar, mixing her drink over and over again with a thin straw until it became watered down. She'd ask for another one, claiming she received it like that. "For a pretty lady like yourself, it'll be on the house," they'd say.

*

His phone buzzed, slightly moving back and forth from the vibrations.

"She is at the hotel, arrive now and stay out of sight. Blend in," the voice said again. Michael ended the call immediately and started his car, taking a deep breath.

It's only business, you've done this countless times before, he told himself. Yet that nervous feeling remained in his stomach.

While he walked into the hotel, he scanned the room for familiar faces. None that he could tell. Good, a rush of calm shot through his body and he took a seat on one of the red sofas in the lounge. Now he waits.

Her new drink came and was placed in front of her along with a wink from a bartender. Don't they get it? Don't they see it? She can't be loved, she shouldn't. She gets up from her seat, gathers her things, and makes her way to the back door.

His phone buzzed again, "Exit the back door in fifteen seconds, they'll never know. Good luck." But he didn't need luck, he was an expert. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. He moved swiftly through the lounge into the hotel bar, and out the back door. No one in the room even glanced in his direction, second guessed his moves or intentions.

Out the back door was a dark parking lot, only five or six cars wide. Maybe three cars long. He chose the first car and leaned against the back, took out a cigarette. A pack of cigarettes from his back pocket lit the killer object, and he immediately dropped the lit match to the ground, watching as it burned out.

The last call. "She's approaching again, execute quickly and meet me back in your car for the payment." He could hear the sinister grin on the mans face more than usual, but he didn't think much of it.

The back door opened, and his fingers lightly brushed the gun stuck in the back of his waistband. He saw one shoe under the crack of the door: a black heel. And then another. The figure, the target, stepped out into view and his heart seemed to scream in agony. He nearly dropped to his knees. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill Scarlett.

His body froze, his heart leaped; this time not with joy. "Scarlett," barely a whisper escaped his mouth.

She turned her head, and her eyes changed moods. She stopped for a moment in her tracks while their eyes met. He hesitated for a second, leaving his guard wide open. Everything he had ever learned from this business came crumbling down on top of him. He could not even bring himself to say a word.

"What are you waiting for," the voice on the phone said, more agitated this time.

"I-I can't," he whispered, his eyes still locked on Scarlett.

"Well, if that's the case... I can surely send someone else more worthy. Maybe take both of you instead of just her? How does that sound?" A tear escaped his eye, rolled down his cheek as he stared at Scarlett. He shook his head slowly, desperately. She hadn't the slightest clue what was about to occur.

"That's what I thought," the man stated. "I'm sending someone now. Do it, or watch it. Whatever your choice."

Scarlett remained still, oblivious to the things to come. He walked over to her, slowly and steadily.

"Michael, I said before. Leave me alone. Please." Her voice didn't sound desperate any longer, but hopeless. Distraught. Destroyed.

Her previous days had been filled with her aimlessly walking around her rather large apartment for one, observing people below, from afar, where she couldn't cause any damage. She noticed a few new things along the skyline in between drinks. Drink after drink after drink. Physically torturing herself now and again. She began to not take notice in when she was crying. It was like the previous years, she couldn't feel. This is why she chose to stay away from love-it literally tears her apart.

But the previous days were behind her now, as the back door of the hotel swung open yet again maybe all of her days were behind her. A man of about fifty took two slow steps onto the gravel, walking out to the middle of the lot. His eyes narrowed to Michael and did not hesitate.

In a split second, the man's forearm was around her neck, the gun to her head. A sly smile writhed along his face as he looked from Scarlett to Michael and back again.

Michael's hands shook with fear that the only person who has made him feel something would be gone. That would be it, he would be reduced to nothing much like before. And what would his life be worth without her? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The man laughed, smirked, shook his head from side to side as he eyed up Scarlett. "You're the distraction, huh? I don't blame you, Clifford, she's awfully distracting." He tightened the grip on her neck and Michael felt himself shudder. The rage boiled inside of him, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Frozen in time.

"You can't do it, you can't," he nearly begged, tears fell down his face by the dozen, streaming down his pale face.

Yet the man laughed again and raised the gun to her head, keeping his focus on Michael. "What are you gonna do, huh? You are the boss after all, but what are you now? In love? Bull shit. Tell me what to do, Clifford. Tell me."

Michael shook his head slowly, looking into Scarlett's eyes, fearless yet in pain. "Don't touch her, please."

"Don't touch her, please," the man mimicked. He rolled his eyes and pressed the gun harder onto her skull.

Maybe out of panic, maybe out of instinct, Michael sprinted to Scarlett, pushing her out of the way. The second she got up she felt a blow to her right jaw, and was pulled back to the ground. A few breathes to recoup and she got up again, punching that man square in the face.

She heard a shot, and then another. A yell.

{{ okay first, hope you enjoyed this chapter and second... thank you so much for 100 reads and counting !! with each chapter i become more proud of this book :)) thank u and luv u }}