Page 12 of Sink With Me

When I think I’m so close to reeling in my line, the fish jumps off the hook and I’m stuck pondering again. My phone groans against my grip. We’re one step forward and one step back.

“You knew?”

I hate when he answers my question with a question, slamming the taxi door I slide into the middle of the leather seats. The tint on the glass leaves little to the outside world of what happens on the inside. But on the inside, you can see everything that happens on the outside.

“Doesn’t matter. Run the name Cordelia for me.” I tap the back of the driver's headrest and state my destination before relaxing back. Each clack of Sam's keyboard echoes through the line. It makes me grind my teeth.

“Cor-de-lia,” he repeats the name slowly, sounding out each part of it. Peering out the window one last time, a satisfied grin takes over as I see she’s finally focused on the cab, her brows pinched and unsure. As much as I’d love to slam on the brakes and step back out, I can’t. I need to get home. She’ll be in my waters soon. Until then, I need to prepare for whatever wrath she’s bringing and possibly curate a nice little cell for when her plan fails.

“There’s nothing.”

Oh, she’s definitely something. I slip out my wallet, ready to hand the driver a few notes and take a little time to look at her picture.

It doesn’t do her justice anymore.

Date: 4-26-2024

Time: 0730

I love pickles so much it almost makes me forget that they’re my going away gift.

After wiping out the convenience store across the road of the three jars they had stocked, I spent my two days on Karma's couch binge-watching Game of Thrones and listening to her gripe about my social skills, as if she has room to talk. She decided it was best to send me off properly and by properly, I mean, with a restock of pickles, extra juice in the jar. Just how I like it.

“You know there’s nothing you can do while I’m in the water, right?” I laugh as I roll the jar between my hands. I’m stalling. A twist of my wrist proves that in numbers. I still have time; I won’t be late. Karma remains quiet, pacing the floor deep in thought.

“Maybe you can take your advice and get laid. You look like you need it more than me.” I prod, hoping to draw a reply.

“Big brooding man from the other night. What was his name?”

I still from her sudden question, the invisible hairs that line the back of my neck coming to a stand just like at the fair, and the first night I stayed here. Even now, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me, but I can’t find them.

“He didn’t say.” I mutter. She looks at me, something about her stare has my adrenaline pumping.

“I recognize him from somewhere.” Her voice is a chilling whisper making goosebumps erupt in my skin. Karma settles behind the quaint setup that she refers to as her ‘office’, the polar opposite of her real office, only a humble monitor and PC here. The light streaming out of the ultra-hd 4k screen is enough to illuminate her fingers flying across the board, logging into Bay’s private server.

Her eyes dart across the monitor, pulling up every profile in the city as she places large, brimmed frames on the bridge of her nose. Please God, not now. I don’t have time to cover for myself, I need to leave. Instead, I find myself stepping behind her, gripping the glass jar hard enough I’m sure it'll shatter in my palms. She continues to put in vague descriptions and narrows it down to a few men around the area.

“Maybe he’s an ex… or some old fling, I don’t know, I didn’t recognize him,” I continue to word vomit while attempting to read what is hidden beneath her steely mask so I can anticipate her next move. It feels like a child trying to figure out what they’re being scorned for. I know I’ve lied to her these past two years, but it’s gone on so long that I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I don’t understand why I’m grasping for reasons to hide him, especially when he doesn’t even bother hiding himself. I mean hell, he’s the one I’m going after, anyway. However, something in my gut tells me I should keep it to myself.

She brings her thumb to her mouth and starts to bite at her nail, staring into the screen with enough intent it might open like a void and swallow her whole.

“I recognize him, I know it.” She mumbles. My brain scrambles to come up with something, anything that will tear her attention away from the screen, knowing I only have a couple of minutes left to salvage the situation.

“Sorry, I forgot you like your men older. I should’ve known better.” My laugh sounds fake, high pitched and cracking. Her head snaps in my direction, a look of feigned confusion and pure anger. She acts as if the whole world can’t see the connection between her and Dutton, the way she always revolves around him, or the way his eyes soften anytime he hears her name.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Cordelia?” She snaps in a tone that is a little too sharp for my liking. I gnaw at the inside of my lip, willing myself not to start an argument right now. If she’s hiding it, then I have no right to be upset. After all, she’s not the only one with secrets.

“You know what I’m talking about.” I try to make my tone lighter, more joking, but there’s a tension in this subject that makes me uneasy. I’ve clearly hit a nerve, I just wish I knew why. We’re best friends, we’re supposed to gossip and tell each other silly things like this. I’ve suspected it for a while, but she never admits to it—maybe because he’s her superior, or maybe I’m just assuming things.

She sucks sharply in her teeth and waves a hand of dismissal.

“Mind your own business and go get on the fucking Titanic.”

Silence. A pin could’ve dropped, and the neighbor would’ve heard it. Fine. If she wants to be that way, whatever, I don’t care. Tears prickle my eyes as I shove the jar of pickles into my bag, tossing it over my shoulder.

“Sorry. Bad word choice. You’re not going to sink.” Her voice creeps behind me, threatening to waver my composure. Yeah, sure, ‘bad word choice’. I don’t know what’s crawled up her ass, but it has me slamming the door without saying goodbye.

She can say whatever she wants to get under my skin, sure, it bothers me, but what she really needs to stop is fucking digging. Her only job is to sit there, look pretty, and make sure I don’t get killed. I shrug my shoulders a few times to try to alleviate the weight of my bag momentarily. The spring air hits my face through the raggedy front door to the apartment, refreshing the stale smell of smoke with an earthy, briny scent. It’s my favorite time of year here, not too hot that you sweat through your clothes and not too cold that you need a jacket. Steady raindrops fall from the clouded sky, dampening my skin.

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