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"Thank you. I'll be in touch." I hang up the phone and put it in the cup holder. Morgan's wide, fearful eyes fall on me as she leans against the door.
"I want to know what's going on right now, Trent," she states, her voice trembling with her words. "And I want the truth."
"And I'll give it to you as soon as we're at my place." I give her a small smile that she doesn't return. "I told you I promised I'd tell you once I got you to safety."
Though she doesn't say anything else, the tense atmosphere between us doesn't change. Not even when I get her back to my home, where we'd been together not even twenty-four hours ago.
I grab her an ice pack and lead us over to the couch. She places the ice against her cheek before she sighs deeply.
"What in the world is going on, Trent?" she asks. "You know, I had my own doubts when I saw your fancy car and this house.Most college students are broke unless they have rich parents and you claimed you don't have family. What aren't you telling me?"
I suck in a deep breath to prepare myself for the backlash I know I'll get from her with what I'm about to say.
"Well...I'm not a college student." I clear my throat and try to settle the nerves that threaten to take over. "I'm actually thirty-two, not twenty-three."
"What?!" she exclaims, jumping to her feet. Her eyes frantically search my face as she slowly shakes her head. "But you don't look that old. Are you messing with me?"
"No," I say on a sigh. I clasp my hands together and wait until she sits down to speak again. "My job..." The words sit on the tip of my tongue, and it's like a tug-of-war battle trying to get them to fall out of my mouth. "I'm a hitman." When she only stares at me, big eyes blinking at me in confusion, I push forward. "I kill people for a living."
"You...kill people?" she repeats.
I nod. "The whole reason I was on campus the day I bumped into you is because I was there to carry out a contract." I met her bewildered gaze. "Someone put a hit on you and accused you of plotting to bomb your school, and I was assigned to take you out."
"You're lying," she grits out, tears glittering in her eyes. I stand and move over to my bag, pulling out the folder with her information.
"All the information is right there," I say, tossing the folder on the couch. She only stares at it but doesn't touch it. "The only reason you're not dead is because I thought something was off. I'd been observing you for a few hours, and nothing about you or what you were doing gave me the impression that you were a terrorist?—"
"Because I'm not!" she shrieks. Loose tears roll down her cheeks as she shakes her head. "So you knew me this whole time! You pretended and made up all this stuff to...what? What was the point? To have me close enough so that it'll be easy to kill me?"
"I wanted to prove you weren't the target," I reply. "I needed proof that they had the wrong person. Even if I refused to do it, they would've sent someone else to finish the job. I wanted to get to know you to make sure before I took your life because I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd killed you and was wrong."
She stands and begins pacing the living room floor. "This literally can't be my life right now," she murmurs over and over to herself, shaking her head.
"I only wanted to protect you?—"
"And a bomb threat?!" she shrieks. "I would never in my life hurt anyone! I don't even like killing bugs even though they're gross! Why would someone think that?"
"That's what I've been working to figure out." I run a hand through my hair. "I know this is a lot and probably overwhelming, but I did all this to protect you. I knew this was wrong from the beginning, so I've been doing everything in my power to protect you."
"Yeah, protecting me from everyone but you." She stops pacing and narrows her icy glare at me. "You lied, Trent. Is that even your real name?"
"Yes." I nod.
"Well, you lied about pretty much everything I knew about you." She scoffed softly and shook her head. "I literally gave myself to you last night because I trusted you. That would've been the perfect time to tell me that you're not a college student, that you're thirteen years older than me, and that you're a professional murderer!"
I reach out to grab her hand. "Morgan?—"
"Don't touch me!" A light sting settles on the back of my hand when she slaps it away, moving farther away from me. "I can't stay here. I don't want to stay here. Please take me to my dad."
"I can't do that, Morgan."
"You can, Trent. You just don't want to. But I'm not asking, I'm telling you. I refuse to stay in a house with someone I don't trust. As of five minutes ago, I don't even know who you are."
Her reaction is valid, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating. "It was for your best interest, Morgan. I can't apologize for trying to keep you safe. Would you have rather had me kill you then?"
The living room falls silent as my question hangs in the air. She wraps her arms around herself and looks toward the front door.
"I want to go to my father. I don't want to stay here, and you can't make me," she said defiantly. She heads toward the door, but I grab her arm. "Trent, let go of me."
