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Asshole.
A thin trickle of blood ran down my arm, snaking all the way to the elbow.
I turned on the tap and rinsed it with warm water, before pulling a first aid kit out of my locker and bandaging myself up.
Sweaty, uneven locks of yellow-white hair fell into my eyes. Haircuts were for people with money.
Pretty soon, it would reach my butt, and Andras would curse me for my frugality, then hack at it with a rusted pair of kitchen shears.
Rinse and repeat.
I checked the time on my phone.
Eight minutes until the lesson.
Andras paid me under the table (to save himself employment taxes), but that wasn’t why I’d chosen to teach.
I only had one student, and I’d taken him on because I needed intel. In fact, this very same student once said in an interview that data is the new gold.
I couldn’t agree more.
Seven minutes left.
Enough time to reply to the string of messages my best friend from the fencing academy in Seoul had left me.
Ari:
I cannot believe you aren’t here when I’m planning a WEDDING.
The betrayal cuts so deep.
Ari:
[Christian Bale Covered in Blood, Lighting a Cigar GIF]
Ari:
When do you start work for American Psycho again?
Ari:
(They should totally reboot this as a new movie, starring the Suns.)
I grinned, my thumbs flying over the screen as I answered her.
Farrow:
Not until Monday.
Why?
Ari:
I want you to have hot, angry sex with him.
Farrow:
I really don’t think he’s interested in me in that way.
