by Rea Winters
After a moment of reflective silence, Rosie put the headpiece away and sifted through the rack of clothes, looking for someone else to become, and found it in a Wild West-style harlot dress accented with red and black lace. Beside it was the perfect equivalent for her friend, so she pulled both off the rack and held them up with a grin.
“Oh no. No, no, I don’t dress up.”
"You said I could be whatever I want. And right now, I'd like to be the dagger wielding dame of a ruggedly handsome gun-toting outlaw."
"Hm. I'm ruggedly handsome, am I?" She stroked her jaw and raised one dark brow, slightly pouting her full lips as she stared off into the distance like an obnoxious supermodel.
Rosie bit her lip, enduring the swell of butterflies as she rolled her eyes.
"Just put it on. Please?"
Enraptured by a spell of batting lashes and an irresistible grin, Xara found herself dressed up in a dusty mid-1800s stable boy outfit with an outlandishly detailed handlebar mustache drawn above her upper lip.
The camera was set on a tripod and put on a timer, capturing the pair's image every two minutes as they tap danced like they were in a silent film to some fast-paced retro tune playing from Rosie's phone. Apparently, when invited to be anything she wanted for their photo fun, the first things that came to mind were every character she ever loved from her favorite books and movies.
A few more costume changes, funny poses, and dance offs later, the sun was setting and their time together neared its end.
Rosie bounced on the balls of her feet as Xara spun her once more and then pulled her into her arms. She was dressed in a blue prairie dress, while her friend remained in the same getup, only now the sleeves of the fitted cotton shirt were rolled up over her biceps and the buttons were undone, exposing the top of her sweat dampened chest.
Breathless as she laughed, it hadn't completely sunken in for Rosie that they were now swaying to a romantically melancholic croon until she brought her arms up around Xara’s shoulders, holding onto her as the latter led their dance. Her heart still hammering in her chest from all the adrenaline, it skipped a beat as she looked up at Xara and caught her staring right back. Her gaze was unwavering and the gentle hold of her waist electrifying. Rosie’s heart and mind couldn't handle both, so she looked away.
"Are you afraid of me?" Sir Vengeance asked.
Rosie looked at her again and this time didn't break away when the assassin’s features slightly creased with what she perceived to be concern.
"No. Not at all."
"Why not?" When the expression deepened, she realized it was confusion not concern that plagued her, so she took a breath, giving it some real thought.
"Hm. Well, I'm not experienced enough with the world to be jaded, but not so naïve to the evil of people that I believe in the power of fairness. So, while I can't celebrate what you do as the only way things should be done, I also can't claim myself to be far above it. Rather than take my chances reporting Perry to the police and battling her in court for the rights to my independence, I choose to cheat and lie - to frame her for murder of all things, just so that she'll truly know suffering. You're a supplier to people like me who demand what you provide because we're too cowardly to obtain it ourselves. Doesn't make you a hero, but it gives you a purpose, which is more than I have in this world. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure. Though I can't promise my answer will be as thoughtful as yours."
“I've been wondering something, a small thing."
“Wondering about what?”
“Your real name."
"My name?"
"Yes. I think it starts with a J."
"Is that so?"
"You like a Jacque.”
Xara grinned. “Do I?"
“No no, on second thought, maybe something with a Z actually. Like…Zandar!”
“Ooh, close, but no cigar.”
“What can you tell me about yourself? Not your job, just you.”
She wasn't supposed to tell her anything about herself, the person behind the moniker. That was one of the most important rules of all.
"I had two older sisters to look after me. My big sister and our elder sister, Leila, who did most of the heavy lifting. She sacrificed a lot to keep us clothed, fed, and happy. Endured a lot..." Xara trailed off, then shook her head, not wanting to be dragged down a dark lane of her worst memories.
"Something happened to her,” Rosie surmised.
"She...she died. About a year after a beating from a pimp put her in a coma. My other sister and me, we went on a tear through the underbelly of the city, looking to take the law into our own hands. That's how The Order found us, recruited us. I became Sir Vengeance not long after."
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I hate what happened to my sister. But I’m not sorry for what it made me or where that’s led me so far.”
“And your parents? Were you close?”
“I remember parts of them, but I was on the young side when they died. Whatever I knew of them and felt for them as ‘mom and dad’ is kind of fuzzy. My sisters were always telling me stories, though, so I have a great respect for them as people.”
“They died together?”
“In a way, they did,” Xara said with a content smile. “My parents were from a mountainside Shoni village in the Central North. Fell head over heels when they were fifteen, so they married a year later. Didn’t have much of a formal education, so when they migrated to the city, they couldn’t get much legitimate work. Leila said that they’d managed well enough with very little for a while. But then, my sister Breya came along when Leila was about ten. They didn’t want to burden her with work or sacrificing school to help with a baby, so they signed up for SBE before she was born.”
“SBE? I’m sorry, I’m not familiar.”
“State Benefits Exchange. Basically meant they’d be given an allowance from the government in exchange for some kind of free labor. They were assigned to a pharmaceutical testing program, paid to be guinea pigs for everything from make up to cancer drugs. Leila said it made the old man sick first, but he wasn’t the quitting type. He’d see anything through to the end just to prove it couldn’t get the best of him. Plus, it was better money than they’d ever earned from other jobs. My mom apparently thought the same way, so they stuck it out. It’s admirable. It’s also what killed them.”
“You come from a long line of strong people. It’s no wonder you are who you are.”
“You’re strong, too, Rosie. You just don’t know it, yet.”
beep-beep-beep!
The sharp alert from Rosie's cellphone startled them still. Their music cut, leaving them suspended in sudden silence, still holding on to each other. A part of the heiress that grew stronger by the second screamed not to pull away, but she listened to the half of her that knew better than to overindulge. She answered the phone on the fourth ring and spent the next minute half fumbling through a fib to her worried driver. Though her heart called for her to stay, this could only be fate's cue to leave before the driver started to walk the streets in search of her, potentially blowing their cover and ruining the plan.
Xara moved to the kitchen table, slowly swiping through their pictures on the camera, the images making her heart soar and sink at once. A few minutes later, Rosie emerged from the bathroom back in her own clothes.
"I haven't had that much fun in a very long time," Xara confessed.
"Neither have I." Rosie’s smile widened into a wide grin as she bit back a laugh.
"What?"
The little lady rummaged around in her purse at the corner of the table and pulled out a fresh packet of wipes.
"For the soup stringer," she quipped and began to clean the cartoonish mustache off the assassin’s face. Xara caught her lingering through touch and gaze along the angles of her cheeks and jaw, conjuring a storm of warmth and pain in the core of them both as they imagined what the next few moments could be – what the slowly growing tether of heat b
etween their bodies pulled them to make into reality.
As if reading the assassin’s mind, the heiress managed a sad smile and pulled away first. Straightened her coat and cleared her throat in vain attempts to strengthen her resolve.
"Goodnight, Sir Vengeance."
“My name is Xara."
“Xara. It’s perfect. I was close, huh? Well, see you next time, Xara.”
After she descended the steps, they shared another wave from street to window, then long after she disappeared down the street, Xara said quietly. “Next time.”
10.
Thursday – Week Three
Xara had a surprise for Rosie.
Rather than meet inside like usual, she waited in front of the building by her motorcycle with a gift hidden behind her back.
Rosie would’ve been worried as she approached if not for Xara’s disarming smile instantly putting her at ease. Though her brows furrowed in confusion, a charmed grin blossomed across her face.
“What’s this?”
“My lady.” Xara presented a slightly smaller helmet and gestured to the pillion of her metal steed.
“Are we going somewhere?”
“I’m taking you on a date.”
“A date?”
“A proper show of courtship like you see in the movies.”
“Are you sure that’s—"
“Trust me, this is all a part of the job. As the one charged with ending your suffering, I can’t possibly let you go before you’ve experienced at least a few of the things you missed out on in bedrest hell.”
Rosie accepted the helmet in a rush of giddy excitement.
“This is really okay?”
“More than.”
Xara fastened the strap under the heiress’ chin, then zipped her own leather jacket before hopping on the bike and holding out her hand. Rosie fastened the three little buttons of her thin white sweater and raised the hem of her baby blue teacup dress, hoisting her legs over the passenger seat. Her thighs hugged Xara’s sides as she leaned forward, settling in before giving a thumbs up.
The roar of the engine both startled and thrilled, making Rosie tighten her arms around Xara’s middle as she burst with laughter.
“Hold on.”
“I will.”
The assassin lowered a bulky black helmet over her head, backed up a few feet, then peeled out into the street.
∞ ∞ ∞
The pier was a magical hub of colorful moving lights and chaotic symphonies of screams and laughter surrounded by endless aromas of sweet and savory fried doughs.
“What should we do first?” Xara asked.
They stood in the center of everything, Rosie looking everywhere, while Xara only looked at her.
“I’m not sure.”
“Go with your gut. Pick any direction and I’ll take you there. It’s that easy.”
Rosie beamed, a swell of giddiness filling her up from head to toe. She looked up at Xara, slid her hand into hers and pointed.
They began the day with rollercoasters and spinning rides, then segued over to the gaming booths where Rosie showed a surprising gift for whack-a-mole and won Xara a frog the size of her fist. The assassin snapped photos with a camera strapped around her neck, most of them capturing the heiress in the middle of eating something about the size of her head. She howled with laughter at how such a tiny person could pack away so much food with no trace of a stomach ache.
The afternoon waned into evening, letting clusters of stars peek through a blanket of darkish blue sky as the sun set. Spring’s damp breeze turned colder without the sun. After capturing a picture of Rosie posed with a statue of a giant friendly fox, Xara let the camera hang at her chest, shed her leather jacket, and wrapped it around Rosie’s shoulders. The smaller woman slipped her arms through the long sleeves, breathing in hints of gunpowder in the larger woman’s clean woody scent as Xara pulled the ends together around her.
“Thank you. For today. For everything,” Rosie said.
Another breeze presented the perfect opportunity for Xara to succumb to the urge to feel her. She swiped away the strands of hair blown over Rosie’s cheek and tucked them behind her ear.
“My pleasure.”
Her lingering touch conjured a flutter of sweet fire in Rosie’s belly, which only ignited a bittersweet ache in her heart as she wished this moment would last forever while being sorely aware that it couldn’t. She ducked her head, unlatching from the intimate graze, and quickly turned to her side, hooking their arms instead. The reluctant rejection wasn’t lost on Xara, but she took it in stride.
“Where to next, my lady?”
“Hmm…” Rosie scanned the park as they strolled.
A giant blue-lit Ferris Wheel landed in her sights and ten minutes later, they were sitting side by side in a roomy metal pod. It was the first time they were stationary since their arrival, which exposed Rosie’s lack of stamina when she drifted into a gentle sleep against her dark knight. Xara wrapped an around her, holding her close, never wanting to let go, while sorely aware that one day soon, she would have no choice.
11.
Thursday – Week Four
Perry had only been out of the hospital for twenty-four hours before jumping back on her work horse, dragging Rosie along with her to make nice with the spouses of the influential blue bloods whose approval she sought. Though she was supposed to meet with Xara, Rosie decided it was wiser to avoid suspicion and went along with Perry’s plans in quiet compliance.
As an exclusive elevator took them up to the fiftieth floor of the skyscraper, Perry used the shiny gold metal of the door to check the makeup job her assistant performed on her half-healed bruises.
Beside her, she noticed Rosie smiling a bit to herself, like she found something amusing, but didn’t want to laugh. Thinking it was about her, Perry became annoyed.
“Something funny?”
Her passively threatening tone snapped Rosie out of it.
“No. I was just thinking about the pier. I...I saw something on TV about it. You know, my mother once—"
“Don’t start, Rose,” Perry warned with a bored sigh. “What have I told you?”
“I’m not a little girl.” Rosie bit her tongue against the sting in her chest as tears threatened to break past her mascaraed lashes and returned to staring at the center of nothing ahead. Her posture poised as she wiped her hands down her dress, a white hip hugging A-line number with black flowers embroidered up the sides. She tried not to fiddle too much with her pearl accessories or the straightened hair set in a perfect swoop over her left shoulder, as if being still would grant her invisibility.
Adjusting the knot of her tie, Perry continued to fuss. “My ribs are killing me, those stupid painkillers aren’t worth shit. I feel bad enough as it is having to go in there with my arm in a sling and three layers of goop on my face. I don’t need you talking like an eight-year-old about your dead mommy. People will get the wrong idea. Did you read those articles I gave you about Mrs. Windthorn’s charities?”
Rosie nodded.
“Good. Talk about those. Show them you’re a grown-up who pays attention. Don’t embarrass me. All right?”
The elevator stopped and a sharp ding welcomed them onto the floor of an upscale restaurant. They were escorted by a host through the levels of blue walls, dark wood floors, and white cloth tables adorned with gaudy floral center pieces until they reached the back of the restaurant. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a wide view of the bustling rainy city below.
“Roselyn, darling!” A graceful older woman, leader of the silk and diamond-clad spouses, stood from a table on the indoor balcony and approached Rosie with open arms. She clasped the girl's hands and pulled her in for a kiss on each cheek. “Oh, look at you," she fawned in an affectionate whine. "You look every bit your mother. Come, sit, sit. Ms. Pryce, we have it from here, thank you.”
"Ladies," Perry greeted. She laid a hand over her heart and bowed her head, laying on a charming smile before exc
using herself to the business table a few feet away.
Rosie participated as much as she could in conversations about charity parties, international vacations, affairs with cabana girls and call boys, and the like, but it wasn’t long before the spouses were talking amongst themselves while she stared out the window.
It wasn’t a total lie, what she had been thinking about on the elevator. But it wasn’t so much the things she saw at that pier, but who she was with that she couldn’t get out of her mind. Not just the moments they had shared, but the ones she imagined them having outside of their lovely suspension in time. Future heart-racing adventures and butterfly-inducing touches, experiencing the world not under one's control, but with one's encouragement. The mix of peace and excitement this particular one conjured within Rosie followed her back into her real life, making her delight in the small things again even when she was alone.
Becoming unnumbed was a small blessing, but also a bigger curse. Feeling more alive scared her almost more than it enticed. She was afraid to change her mind for a fantasy that was bound to die whether she did or not. So, she reminded herself of the anger. Her rage. Stoked its flames with memories of how Perry rutted against her cold body like an animal, how she belittled and terrorized her, how much she hated her and needed to ruin her the way she had been ruined.
A painful ripple suddenly sprang loose within her chest as she stared toward the sun, which shined directly behind the tip of the building across the street.
∞ ∞ ∞
“How is the Hayden girl?” Mr. Windthorn asked. A bronze-skinned man with long white hair and a broad clean-shaven chin, wearing the sharpest black suit, biggest diamond watch, and shiniest golden ring – he was the leader of this gang of corporate vultures and the CEO of Hayden Industries' biggest competitor.
Perry swallowed before answering, squared her shoulders, and put on a charmingly arrogant grin.
