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She didn’t care about my alcohol tolerance. She just didn’t want to have to take care of me. One little glance at her was all it took for me to know that.
It was just as easy as watching a video play on a screen. This skinny, hard-faced woman wiped the bar with jerky movements and imagined what would happen if I got too drunk. Her train of thought played out like a movie, projected in front of her within the hazy blue aura that surrounded her body. The images flickered as she wiped the bar and stacked glasses. I caught a glimpse of myself, and I couldn’t help but watch.
Her thoughts showed a pretty, preppy, fresh-faced young woman accidentally getting too drunk in a strange bar, in a strange town. I watched as my violet eyes grew heavy-lidded, my movements slowed, my speech slurred. Then, my head hit the wood in front of me as I lost consciousness.
The bartender didn’t want to have to look after me if that happened. She’d have to help me, and she didn’t want to.
It just made everything harder for her, and she had enough tough things to deal with. In her aura, I watched an image of her scream with rage and frustration at the passed-out blonde girl on her bar. She despised me for putting her in that position.
I glanced away before I saw anything else. I didn’t want to know what was going on in her head. I had enough pain of my own to deal with.
At least she wasn’t planning on kicking me out. It was already dark outside, just past seven at night, and the wind had begun to howl ominously—the telltale precursor to a storm rolling in.
“Don’t worry about me,” I told her, throwing her a playful grin. “I’m a kappa kappa delta girl. My tolerance is so high now it takes me at least a couple of bottles to even feel the alcohol.” I was lying. After three glasses of wine, I was starting to feel both buzzy and numb. But not numb enough.
She stopped wiping the bar for a moment and glared at me. “It’s Anna, right?”
“That’s right!” I blinked up at her. “How did you know? Oh,” I gave a sheepish chuckle. “You carded me when I walked in. You’ve got a great memory, you know that, uh…” I peered at the name embroidered on her apron. “Cherry.” I met her eyes again and had the privilege of watching her fantasize about slapping me for being such a perky idiot. “Nice to meet you, Cherry.”
She didn’t smile back. “Nice to meet you, Anna.”
My name wasn’t Anna. That was what my ID said, though. My real name was Chloe. I used the name Anna a lot, with various surnames. It was simple, unmemorable, and, for me, a long-running secret joke. My name is Anna. Anna Sassyn.
Cherry pursed her lips. “Just take it easy, okay, Anna? I’m not carrying you out of here.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me, Cherry.” I met her gaze easily and smiled. I was already a little drunk.
The lies fell off my tongue as easily as breathing. For the first sixteen years of my life, all I did was lie. I wasn’t just good at it, it was who I was. Or rather, it was who they trained me to be.
A liar and a killer.
I’d been both of those things since I was old enough to form full sentences and hold a razer blade in my pudgy little hand. The man that built me made sure I was the best at what I did. He gave me everything I needed—unlimited training, money, resources. He created me. He was Frankenstein; I was his monster. He pointed; I killed. It was my normal. It was my life.
Then, fate decided to T-bone the trajectory of my life, and for the last ten years, I’d been… asleep. I am awake now, though.
And I wanted to die.
The bartender—Cherry—must have sensed my overwhelming despair, because she hesitated in front of me again. I could feel her hard eyes studying me. I didn’t have to see her thoughts to know this woman had lived a rough life. She was used to being lied to.
But I was too good.
Cherry cocked her head. “Just take it easy, okay?”
I nodded, and she turned away, wiping the bar and dumping soggy coasters in the trash behind her. I took a big slug of my wine, keeping the irritation off my face. This bitch was going to ruin my plans.
I should have chosen another bar. Unfortunately, I needed to be around people right now—my soul was screaming for human company—I just didn’t want them to pay too much attention. But this hard-eyed bartender noticed, and it annoyed me. I wanted to get drunk.
I needed to get drunk. The memories whirling around inside my head grew louder when the sun went down; they had started to tear and scratch and scream, and it hurt.
I’d do anything to make them shut up. If I could drink myself to death, I would. I’d tried so many times in the last two weeks. I’d even put a gun in my mouth, but I just couldn’t pull the trigger. Apparently, my survival instincts overruled the desperate need to escape the horrors in my head.
It was just my luck. I had a death wish and an uncontrollable impulse for self-preservation.
One of the men from the other side of the bar wandered over to my side. He waved two fingers at Cherry, leaning on the bar next to me with deliberate casualness. She got busy pulling another beer.
I sighed inwardly. He could have just ordered his drink from that side.
He leaned closer. “Hey there. I haven’t seen you around here before. Where are you from, honey?”
