I take the elevator down to the carpark after work with Grace. She’s blabbering away about Warner, how she shagged him on the weekend and she shouldn’t have, because he’s a prick1 and he’s spoilt2 and he’s misogynistic3 and that she feels like a bad feminist for doing it.
Grace is one of those girls who strikes me as someone who loves buzzwords. She’ll be an introvert with a lot of social anxiety who’s been gaslit all her life, though she isn’t, she doesn’t have any and she hasn’t been once.
The proof in the pudding is that I haven’t said a word since we started walking from our locker room a full four minutes ago, but that works fine for me because I’m tired and I don’t feel like dishing out sex advice, though I’m a tiny bit keen to know how Warner goes.
The elevator dings open and there he is, waiting for me like he has every evening for the last two weeks.
Romeo Bambrilla catches my eye. We stare over at each other for a few seconds — too many things to say, I don’t even know where I would start4—
“Oh, hello.” Grace stares over at him, blinking. Not really her fault, he’s very beautiful.
I step out of the elevator and start walking.
“Do you know him?” She scurries after me, looking back over her shoulder at Rome as he trails slowly after me.
“Yes.” I look for my keys even though I’m not near my car yet.
“He’s very sexy—” she says, looking over her shoulder again and I hear Romeo snort.
I look over my shoulder at him — our eyes hold — I turn back at Grace.
“Yes,” I say.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Ex.” I stop walking, rummaging though my bag.
Where are those ruddy keys?
Rome folds his arms, staring at me. I know his eyes are impatient without me even looking at him, I can feel it.
“Why did you break up?” Grace asks looking from me to him, like I’d answer her in front of him. As though I’d answer her at all?
I stare up at Rome and my heart sinks because he offered me a normal life once when I was too young to know I needed it. He knew though. I said no, I broke his heart. Traded it and that normalcy he was offering me for a couple of extra years with my brother, and where did that get me?
I sigh, open my mouth to say something — what could I say? — And then there’s the loud screech of tyres.
“DAISY!” Romeo yells — a van pulls up next to me — two gunshots fire — I look down at myself, try to see where I’ve been hit, but it’s not me — I look over at Rome, he’s reaching for his gun — swings it around, pointed towards me, but it’s not at me — it’d never be at me? Where’s Grace? I look at my feet. I hear a van door swing open.
She’s dead at my feet, that’s where Grace is. Maybe she’s not dead, but she’s face down. I can’t see.
The pool of blood seeping out of her leads me to believe, medical opinion aside, that she is probably dead, or very quickly dying.
And then I feel these arms grab me from behind.
And it’s funny, I don’t feel scared, I don’t think about who’ll save me, if I’ll even be here to be saved. I don’t worry about dying — I think dying’s always been my lot. The first thing I think?
There goes normal.
The man who’s grabbed me, he’s pulling me backwards towards the van, and Rome’s not shooting at him because he can’t get a clean shot — but he’s still firing as he runs towards the front of the car, shooting at the driver—
I buck in the man’s arms but he doesn’t let go, so I bring my knees up to my chest, grab my knife5 out from my Balmain combat boots6 and start blindly stabbing behind me.
Shoulder, neck, face — I don’t care, I hit it all, and he’s screaming in pain — lets me go as he falls down and another man emerges from the van with a gun — points it at me, and then I hear a shot. I touch my head — still not me.
The man falls down dead.
I look back at Romeo.
His chest is heaving — that old look back on his face that he’s had too many times in our little lives.
I bend down for Grace.
“No!” He grabs me.
“Yes!” I pull away. “She could still be—”
“She’s not—” He shakes his head.
I shove him away from me. “You don’t know!”
“I do!” he yells back. “It was a head shot, I watched it hit her—”
I put my hands on my cheeks — I think I’m going to be sick.
“We’ve got to go, Dais—now.” Rome grabs my hand and we run towards my car, he snatches my keys from me, unlocks it, shoves me inside.
“Are you hurt?” He doesn’t look at me as he asks, just starts the car, peels out.
Drives straight through the arm of the parking gate.
“No.” I shake my head, tucking my feet under my legs. “Are you?”
He looks over at me, shakes his head.
He nods, pulling out his phone.
“Miguel?” he says into it. “No, they came for her. In the garage. No, yeah — I’m — she’s with me.” He glances at me. “They’re dead.” Pause. “So is a girl who was in the lift.”
“Grace Pal,” I say.
Romeo doesn’t repeat her name.
“Do you have the Escalade?” he asks instead. “We’ll meet you out front. Ditch her car.”
“No.” I smack him and he gives me a sharp look, then hangs up the phone.
“How did you know?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
He takes a steep breath. “You’ve pissed off everyone you know, who the fuck is gonna send you flowers?”
1 He is.
2 He is.
3 He is.
4 ‘I’m sorry, you’re my best friend, I love you, please forgive me’ might be a good place to start.
5 Bear OPS Single-Edge Boot Knife Fixed 3.25” Black Spear Point Blade.
6 Ranger. Black leather.
