AM I AN EVIL PERSON ?

Amelia Sinclair didn’t take kindly to being ignored. She would have kicked him with her foot if he didn’t have his hand on the trigger. She wouldn’t ruin this mission for him, even if she wanted attention. They were FRIENDS, after all, and she didn’t want him to be mad at her. Even if she was mad at him for not giving her the attention she so desperately desired. 

❛ Whatcha doing after ? ❜

keys in hand, his car’s unlocked well before they get there. now that they’re outside, he doesn’t worry about the staff inside. doesn’t worry about being questioned and being called officer—  no. he’s still more worried about the man beside him. there’s no avoiding that. lee supports the weight of him. anticipated as much. is the reasoning behind his arm now finding its place hooked around barry’s waist. he gives it only a second before he’s opening the door for him instead. doesn’t need to be asked, not that he would have to begin with.

                         “ you’re not okay. ”    lee doesn’t hide his disappointment well. not now as he’s helping barry into the passenger seat.   (  he’s hit with the memory of finding him. of having to pull him out of his own car, only to get him into his. remembers vividly, having barry’s blood on his hands—  on his clothes—  )   habit has him fastening barry’s seatbelt for him. makes sure it’s secure with just a tug, or two.    “ and don’t be sorry. ”    it’s softer. more understanding. he waits until barry’s settled before he closes the door for him and rounds the car to get into the driver’s seat.

               without another word, without another glance, lee turns the ignition. if the streets of la were kind, they’d be at his apartment within the hour.

it’s only when they’re pulling up into the parking lot that lee breaks the silence. parks, but doesn’t look at barry.  “ if you want to go home, tell me now. i’ll take you and your car. ”    and no, he doesn’t sound happy about it.    “ but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t want you here. ”    safe. with me.

barry blinks and he’s missing seconds of time. knows he’s in bad shape because bright, bloody spots seem to intrude on his vision every time his lids close for a moment. lee helps him into his seat. blackness. they’re half way back to the other man’s home when he loses consciousness again, and it’s only when they’re stopped that his eyes open once more, remembering that he wasn’t alone, wasn’t in danger. it’s a relief, and the hitman would enjoy the safety if his body weren’t throbbing.

should he go home? part of him wanted to. part of him wanted to lay in his own bed, black out for a few hours, take care of his wounds, stitch himself up, when he finally woke. he’d live, he knew he would. would be dead by now, if he were going to die from the attack he’d endured. so he absolutely could go home. but then, the part of him that didn’t want to leave lingered in his eyes when he turned his head slowly to look at lee. black eye and broken lip throbbed severely, still. he was a burden now, and, more than that, he was a secret, a mystery. barry’s lucky enough that lee hasn’t asked any questions yet, but the way barry has already imposed on him... 

𝙍𝙀𝙂𝙄𝙉𝘼 𝙈𝘼𝙓𝙒𝙀𝙇𝙇   ╱      i bet my life on it !

‘don’t,’ it’s a reply that comes far too quickly. the prospect that she might be joking comes after the fact, and barry straightens a bit, remembering that others had senses of humor that reach far above his head, sometimes. there’s a small clear of his throat, and he takes a moment to gather himself. just the thought of her staking her life for anything made him ache, made him irate- made him sad. but she’s not serious. it’s a turn of phrase, a saying that’s been given time and time again. barry glances at reggie. ‘uh, i mean. it’s just- not really worth it, y’know?’ he tries to chuckle, make the conversation light again. ‘you don’t have t’do that.’

      𝚂𝙷𝙴      𝙷𝙰𝙳      𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃      𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽      𝚆𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙳.                     reggie      always      worried    about    him,    but    today    she    had    been    even      more      so,    just    from    the    way    he    had    acted    during    class.    she      deliberately      ignored    the    texts,    had    come      right      over      post    shoot,    but    the    scene    she    had    walked    in    on    was      not      what    she    thought.    reggie’s    pressed    against    the    wall,    eyes      wide      and    staring    at    him.      don’t      make      a      sudden      movement,      don’t      do      anything      that      could      make      him      mad.      survival    skills    from    her      childhood      all    but    forgotten    resurface,    and    her    voice    is      tight      when    she    speaks.      if      you      must      speak,      speak      carefully,      least      you      say      the      wrong      thing.           ❛           i    know.      i      know      you    did    i    …    i’m      sorry.      i    …    your    hands.    what    …    what    happened    ?           ❜

                 ☽                      despite  the  panic  welling  in  her  chest,  there’s  still  a  small  part  of  her  wondering  if  this  was  just  a  dream.  was  this  really  happening?  was  the  man  before  her  really  going  to  get  rid  of  her  ex?  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  after  everything,  this  was  her  solution?  she’s  starting  to  feel  sick  over  the  whole  thing,  frankly      murder?  she’d  never  raised  a  hand  to  anyone  in  her  life,  and  now  here  she  was,  sitting  across  from  a  hit  man.  her  father  would  be  proud.

     cheeks  flush  pink  at  her  mistake,  pulling  the  bag  quickly  back  into  her  lap  and  letting  her  head  fall  forward  to  hide  her  face  from  view.  could  she  be  anymore  pathetic?  a  hand  lifts,  palm  pressing  into  the  scar  upon  her  neck;  a  constant  reminder  of  him,  and  she  knew  that  no  matter  how  dead  he  was,  he  would  never  truly  leave  her.   ❛   he…  he  has  a  lot  of  friends.  even  cops.  they  would  always  turn  a  blind  eye  to  the  domestic  disturbance  calls  and…  his  other  friends  and  him  would  laugh  about  how  clumsy  i  was.   ❜   her  voice  is  starting  to  grow  raspy.  choked  back  tears  are  tearing  away  at  her  but  she  doesn’t  want  to  embarrass  the  man  with  her.

     she  grabs  for  the  cup,  eyes  closing  as  she  chugs  down  the  scalding  liquid.  it’s  a  moment  to  breathe,  a  moment  to  center  herself,  but  it’s  also  purely  for  the  warmth  now  sliding  down  her  chest.  it  was  december  and  bone  chillingly  cold  outside.  she  lets  out  a  cough  when  she  finally  lets  the  mug  down,  now  empty.   ❛   h-he’ll  tell  you  i  made  it  all  up.  i…  i  ruined  his  life,  i  deserved  it.    ❜   maybe  i  did.  she  doesn’t  say  it  out loud,  as  much  as  she  might  blame  herself,  she  needs  this  done.  she’s  already  going  crazy,  sooner  or  later  he’ll  catch  up  to  her.    ❛   you…  don’t  have  to  pay.  i’ve  got  enough  for  the  coffee,  i  can  just…  pawn  jewelry  tomorrow.   ❜

not that it matters, but barry believes her. it doesn’t matter because she was paying him to get the job done, and nothing else. even if she had lied about every aspect of this guy and their fucked up relationship, barry would still pull the trigger on eddie. innocence and guilt are built by perspective, after all. he listens closely while she explains the guy’s so called friends, though barry imagines he’ll have no problem, either way. still, it’s good to have this information handy. cops were pigs and cared about no one and nothing but themselves and quotas. would say so, if barry thought it’d help the situation but they aren’t friends, and he says nothing of the kind.

‘don’t worry about,’ says the hitman of the coffee. less than $5 when she was going to pay him twenty grand, when he had bags of money, maybe more than she’s seen in some time. really, it was nothing, in retrospect, and if she had to pawn jewelry to afford a cup of coffee, than it only made sense for him to hand over a bill for her drink. they’re both silent as she takes down the beverage. barry barely blinks. and he finds himself feeling sorry for her, if only a little bit. strange sort of feeling to have when talking to a client, talking with someone who’s hiring you to kill someone.