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I shake my head decisively. No. I would not want Rico to ambush me in the shower. Or anywhere else. I need to stay as far away from him as possible.
Walking into my bathroom, I take a nice long shower in the privacy of my own apartment instead.
Once I’m done, I put on some fresh clothes and walk back into the living room.
And then I just… stand there.
The neutral white couch stares back at me expectantly. I look from it to the empty coffee table before it. And then to the pale wooden bookcase by the wall that I have filled with some random knickknacks in order to make it seem like I have a soul.
I drag my gaze back to the sofa.
Now what?
I’ve never really had free time before. All my life, I have spent every waking hour either training or executing a mission. I have never had an entire weekend to just do whatever I want. I haven’t even had an entire day like that. What do people do in their free time?
My gaze drifts back to my bedroom where I have dumped the new course books that I was given. I could study. But I don’t need to. The things that these people are learning right now are things that I learned years ago.
I glance at the black screen of the TV. Maybe I could watch something? But what? What do normal people watch? And can I even watch anything? Maybe I need some kind of subscription for that. Or to at least pay for the different channels or something.
On the wall next to the fridge, the clock ticks faintly into the oppressive silence.
For one single second, I get the overwhelming urge to both laugh and burst into tears at the same time.
I don’t even know how to watch TV. What the fuck is wrong with me? I have infiltrated buildings with top level security. I have assassinated countless people from the most powerful parts of society. I can withstand hours of torture and pass every lie detector test available. I outclass every single student on this campus by miles. But I don’t even know how to watch TV.
Steel bands tighten around my chest, and I suddenly feel like I’m choking.
I’m not even a real person, am I? I really am just a fucking ghost. I’m twenty-two years old and yet I feel like I’m still waiting for my life to even begin.
A firm knock comes from the front door.
The sound is so jarring in the suffocating silence that it actually startles me.
Snapping out of the soul-crushing thoughts I was drowning in, I give my head a couple of quick shakes to clear it as I stride towards the door and then glance out the peephole.
I bite back a curse.
Fucking hell. That’s what I get for taking out victory prematurely.
Rico is standing on the other side.
I briefly consider not opening the door and just pretending that I’m not here. But if I do that, he will probably just break it down instead. And that would be annoying to fix.
So I draw in a bracing breath, let a mask of guarded wariness settle on my features, and then open the door. It swings open to reveal my tormentor standing there with a cardboard box in his hands.
For a few seconds, we just watch each other in silence.
Then he clears his throat. “Can I come in?”
“That depends on what’s in the box.”
His sudden presence here surprised me enough that it isn’t until after I’ve already replied that I realize that he actuallyaskedif he could come in this time.
A smile tugs at his lips, and mischief glitters in those warm brown eyes of his as he says, “Rope, duct tape, zip ties. Some knives and other torture instruments. A few explosives.”
I’m pretty sure he’s joking. Hesitation flickers through me. Heisjoking, isn’t he?
Deciding that he must indeed be messing with me, I step aside and motion for him to come in. “Sounds like my kind of Friday night.”
