Page 12 of Kill Me

Shut the fuck up, Quinny.

It’s time to die, remember?

Don’t disappoint us now.

He pairs the jacket with Docs that barely have a scratch on them, and he smells like a whore’s handbag, to be honest. It’s fucking delicious. Leather and tobacco, with a layer of smoke—but not cigarette smoke—like burning wood from a night of camping, sat around a bonfire. Not that my parents have ever taken me camping, the selfish pricks. This man can take me, though. He can chase me through the woods masked up to the nines like Ghostface, and I can pretend I’m a character in my favourite romance book. Date night idea, maybe?

As I drag my eyes back up his body, as slowly as painfully possible, determined that if he is the last thing I’ll ever see, it will be painted inside my skull for eternity, I realise he has piercings. His septum has a pure black metal half hoop hanging, and his lower lip is pierced, too. As if by magic, his tongue pokes out, stroking over his lip, and I see a glint of metal running through the tip of his tongue. Perfect placement for him to do some ungodly things with it. His hands and neck are tattooed, and just over the top of his band tee I can see wisps of light hair and the tip of some ink that must decorate the top half of his body. It doesn't quite connect to his other tattoos, but the detail is intricate. Almost like they have stories behind them, and they’re stories I’d quite like to know.

His lips curve into a smirk, and I almost forget what I was even here for, but it’s clear by the glint in his eyes that he hasn’t, and he’s not gonna let me get away that easily.

A magpie flutters leisurely above us. Swooping in circles, cawing.

“Good evening, Mr Magpie. How are you today?”

The man in front of me stands there, mouth agape.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, ‘Good evening, Mr Magpie. How are you today?’”

“Why would you say that?”

“The magpie song?” I cock my brow. Surely he’s not that fucking dim.

“The only thing I know about magpies is that they’re little thieves.”

“You should educate yourself then, because they only steal out of curiosity and intelligence, not because they want to hoard your treasure.”

“Well, oh wise one, consider me educated; please continue my education and tell me what the fuck you’re talking about because it’s getting dark and cold, and unlike you, I have balls to freeze off.”

“Bold of you to assume my genitalia, Mr.”

“You’re getting off track. Please, continue.”

Another Magpie appears. “See, there’s a magpie. One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy—you know the rhyme. They’re here to celebrate my demise.”

“Not if I’ve got anything to do with it, they aren’t.” He looks at me with a determination in his eyes that rivals mine. Shit, I might actually be in trouble here.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to devour me for dinner…”

“No reason. Maybe this was the meet-cute I thought it could be, after all…”

“You read romance?” Now it’s my turn to stand there mouth agape, unable to believe what I’m hearing.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out, if you’re reconsidering your decisions, of course. Care to tell me your name so we can continue our original conversation? I can tell you’re a deflector. But you don’t need to deflect. I’m here with my emotional armour on, ready to take the bullets for you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Oh, great, the man talking me off the ledge is only doing so because I remind him of an ex.”

“No.” He chuckles. “Actually, you remind me of my mum.”