Page 94 of Ship Happens
I step closer to the bed. “Where’d the asshole go?”
“He went to see Jim.” Maverick doesn’t turn around as he answers me, and I don’t like the flat tone of his voice. “Said he’d be in his room when you were ready to depart.”
“He’s lost his mind if he thinks I’m going anywhere with him. Even if he didn’t send the order down the pipe, he could have told me the truth about the mission.” I open the closet to grab my bag, but it isn’t there. “Where’s my shit?”
“King already loaded your things into the helicopter.”
I roll my eyes and go to the bed. “Well, he can unload them. I’m not leaving this ship until the final?—”
“You should accept the promotion.”
I drop onto the bed and bury my face in a pillow so I can scream. “Why won’t anyone listen when I speak? I don’t want to be a fed anymore. I want to be a fucking serial killer, and I’m not changing my mind!”
He finally turns to face me, and I don’t like that look in his eyes. I don’t even recognize him. “You want to be a serial killer because I’ve made you believe I have feelings for you. In truth, I don’t. Like you, I was simply following orders from a superior, and now that the mission is over, I can stop pretending.”
“Maverick, you don’t mean that.” I sit up and laugh because if I don’t, I’ll cry. “I profile people for a living. I can tell when someone is lying.”
“I do mean it, Frankie.” He turns back to the window. “Let’s stop pretending now. For both our sakes.”
Tears prick my eyes again, but I swallow them down. “You are so full of shit. My pussy is still sore from you dicking me down a few hours ago, so don’t try to feed me some bullshit about how you don’t have feelings for me. I’m not stupid. You’re trying to do something you feel is selfless, but you’re only hurting both of us.”
“I’m sorry you’re struggling to accept?—”
“Fuck you!” I throw the pillow at his head, and he rocks forward when it connects with the back of his skull. It’s not enough, so I grab another and start beating him with it. “Fuck you, fuck you,fuck you!”
He sits stoically and takes his beating, which does nothing to dissipate the rage roiling through my veins. I want him to hurt as badly as I hurt right now, but his face is a blank mask. Short of stabbing him to death, I don’t know what I can do that will allow him to feel what I’m feeling. Because this heartbreak feels like dying.
“You want me to leave? Fine. I’ll fucking leave.” I get off the bed and smooth my shirt, giving him a few extra seconds tochange his mind. When he keeps staring at the water, I realize I’m fighting a losing battle. Maybe he’s telling the truth and this was all imagined on my end.
With my heart shattering into millions of pieces, I turn and leave the cabin again. I pause just outside the door and close my eyes, all while screaming in my head. I mentally beg him to come for me, to save me from the anguish.
He doesn’t.
My life is currently in pieces, and if Maverick won’t help me put the pieces back together, I’ll just have to do it myself.
And it starts with King.
With each step I take toward Jim’s room, a bit more confidence ebbs into me. The pieces of armor fall into place, and the emotional pain recedes to make way for the stoicism my line of work requires. I shift, becoming the unfeeling creature I guess I’m forced to remain.
Maybe it’s for the best. Feeling things hasn’t exactly worked out for me.
I take the elevator and wind through corridors until I can rap my knuckles against the large wooden door. Jim says I may enter, and as I step into the room, I’m assaulted by a thick cloud of cigar smoke. King and Jim recline in large leather chairs by a fake fireplace. Each man clutches a long cigar, which they seem to chew more than smoke.
“Frankie, my dear girl,” Jim says as he sits forward. “Come, take a seat, take a seat.” He motions toward a delicate pink chaise lounge against the wall.
I stroll toward it and sit, all while wishing I’d worn my black pantsuit to this meeting. It’s hard to take myself seriously when I’m dressed in a baggy shirt and joggers, but I didn’t exactly have a choice since someone spirited away my things.
“Have you had a chance to think about the promotion?” King asks. He plucks a glass of something golden from the side tableand swirls the liquid. “If you’re concerned about things you’ve done on the trip, consider it water under the bridge.”
“And what if I want to keep doing these things?”
King sips his drink, then slides the glass onto the table. “I was hoping you’d find these activities less than desirable, but given your breeding, I suppose this was to be expected.”
“My breeding?”
“Your father,” Jim says. “Terrible business, that.”
“Terrible...” I look between them. “Do you know who my father is?”
