The Death Blog — Life Isn’t Fair (And Neither Is Death)
This is the (lucky?) thirteenth installment of The Death Blog
Paul found out.
He was waiting for me when I got home that night.
As soon as I unlocked my door I saw him standing in my living room.
“Fuck,” I rolled my eyes and slumped against the door and I closed it.
Paul raised his eyebrows, “And a cheery hello to you too, Emily.” He waved a drink at me. Fucker helped himself to my Pepsi. Probably had my rum in the glass as well.
I closed my eyes and walked past him into the kitchen. Sure enough, a bottle of Bacardi sat on the counter.
“I’ll give you one guess why I’m here,” he followed me to the kitchen.
I grabbed the bottle of rum off the counter and poured myself a glass before turning around and staring at him. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “House warming gift?”
“Fun Fact,” he ignored me, “I know when you slip under. Doesn’t matter if you do it on time and routine or early just to make things easier.” He poured himself another heavy-handed drink. “Or if you do it to break into an apartment.”
I walked past him, reached into the sink and grabbed a glass I knew wasn’t that dirty. I took a deep breath and sighed, poured myself and drink and turned to face him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied and sipped.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he set his own glass on the cheap formica counter.
I shook my head and said nothing.
“I would have expected this kind of shit from a fresh cull, someone still pink around the ears,” he picked up the glass and drained it, “But not from you, Emily.”
I looked at him but still wasn’t quite sure what to say. He stepped closer to me and took the bottle from the counter, poured himself another drink and leaned against the wall across from me.
We stared at each other for a few minutes before I finally spoke. “So, okay, you caught me.” I shrugged.
“This is about more than ‘catching you’, Emily,” his voice had a hard edge to it, “What did you think you were going to do? Save her…