Monochrome: His Favorite Shade of Gray

"No, please don't do this." the rhythmic and loud sound of the club's stereo beneath them drowns out the man's cries.

Unknown to the intoxicated brains of the strangers amusing themselves a storey below them, Saidelle smirks in the dark corner of a spacious room. She takes a slight whiff from the cigarette between her fingers before slowly puffing it out in front of the man's fair and frightened face.

"Are you ordering me?" It's his first time hearing his captor's voice since he woke up to find himself tied down and his limbs searing in pain. He has no idea how he came to be in this dark room but all he knows is that he has drunk himself stupid not too long ago.

"No, I'm not!" the man quickly defends; the realization that whatever would come out of his mouth next could determine the length of his life dawns on him. "I'm just begging you. Please spare my life!"

Footsteps fall to the ground and the sound increases as his captor walks out of the protection of the dark. The first thing that he notices about her is her attire--she's dressed in a flimsy black silk dress while balancing herself on black stilettos. She's strikingly beautiful but that's not what Alex park would remember this night as he struggles against the rope tied tightly on both his arms.

It would be her eyes--yes, her eyes. Eyes like snakes, eyes that show no traces of humanity in them anymore. They said that eyes were the window to the soul and to Alex, it looks like he's got everything to worry about because she doesn't have one. And this scared him more than anything, more than the knife and gun in her gloved hands, more than the thick strands of fiber bruising his wrist, more than the fact that he knows what he did to deserve this, more than the discernment that he's never going to see Summer again, and even more than the fact that he's not going to live to see tomorrow anymore.

"Favor?" Her head tilts to the right slightly. "Why? Are we friends?"

"No, we aren't. Unless you'd like to be." Alex grins almost stupidly.

"No thank you, I don't do friends." His captor shakes her head.

Alex frowns, momentarily forgetting the reason why he's here in the first place and judging by the way his captor stares at the wall lazily, it looks like she isn't any better. "So, if you're not going to kill me. Can you please let me go now?"

"Don't tell me what to do." She brings up the gun and he shivers as the cold metal flattens against the space between his eyebrows. "I was just trying to make conversation. But if you wanted to die that badly, you could have just said so."

"Why would a murderer want to make conversation before killing their victims?" He squints his eyes, trying to find logic in that.

"So that you'll die comfortably. Now think of pretty things because I'm going to kill you at the count of ten." Her voice turns colds and her eyes turns to slits, signaling Alex that she means business.

He closes his eyes in bitter acceptance and defeat. Maybe he did deserve all of this, Alex thinks and he lets himself lean against the chair comfortably. At twenty three years old, he's done a lot of things he isn't so proud of but a midst the trouble, he still has Summer. Alex had known that something like this was bound to happen (although he never expected it to be this soon) and as the weapon is lifted off his skin, the only regret that he has is not being able to tell Summer the magnitude of his love for her one last time.

Then the countdown in the back of Alex's mind ticks down to zero.

The gun goes off with a muffled Bang.

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Red.

Like always, it's a dark shade of red everywhere. Thick blood oozes down and drips to the marble floor. Saidelle leans down and stares avidly at the hole right in the left part of her victim's chest--right where his heart should have been beating.

Once again, it strikes her how easy it is to kill someone. Taking a lungful of polluted stale air, Saidelle waits for it.

One. Two. Nine minutes later and still nothing. This is her thirteenth kill yet she's unfazed and guilt does not sink down to her senses. Saidelle heaves a sigh and turns her back to the dead body (Tao and his company will clean the bloody remains and evidence later). No matter what she does to change things, she'll never be able to change the way she feels--or doesn't feel.

Maybe they're right and Saidelle Bronte does not have a heart in her (morally, of course). Even though she tried to talk to her victim to at least feel sorry, it's still ineffective. She hides the knife and gun in her bag, contemplating which was worst.

Killing someone or not feeling anything after it.

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"So, they pick Bryle again?"
Brandon's voice booms through the white walls of his large office. Nhadelle never likes it when Brandon talks like that. His voice drops a timbre and it just sounds cold and calculating.

"Yes, the critiques said that his work is amazing and they're even contemplating about exhibiting his commissions internationally." At this, Nhadelle almost whispers and she braces herself for the incoming burst of outrage she knows would soon follow.

As expected, Brandon's eyebrow creases and his eyes narrow in fury. "Why does it always have to be fucking Bryle?"

Instead of replying to his question, Nhadelle tenses up and bites her lower lip. It would be better for the both of them if she keeps quiet. More than anyone else in the world, Nhadelle knows the depth of Bryle's hatred and envy for his cousin. His struggle goes on as he kicks his chair almost childishly and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Bryle this and Bryle that. For fuck's sake, it's not like he raises the dead. He just paints crap. God fucking damn it."

"It's not like there's anything you can do about it." Finally finding her tongue, she straightens her back confidently and looks at the deer-like boy straight in the eye. It's about time that her boss grows up and starts to act like a proper twenty five year old.

"Oh, there's something." He walks over to her and leans his head dangerously close to her neck. His breath is warm against her exposed jaw line down to her collarbones, making her shiver in obvious awareness. A smirk forms on Brandon's lips as he sees her reaction to his closeness. "Looks like I'm going to need your sister's services after all. What's her name again?"

"Saidelle? But she kills for a living and no, don't even think about--" The string of protests dies down as he flattens his lips against hers.

-------

"Stupid Brandon with his stupid hair and stupid eyes and stupid voice." The doe-eyed girl slams the bottle of cheap Soju down against the wooden table.

Her sister's deep laughter echoes through the nearly-empty cafeteria and she narrows her eyes at Nhadelle. "You don’t have to call your lover stupid.”

Nhadelle’s laugh gets louder, earning curious glares from people sitting on other tables. She shakes her head in disagreement and makes a clucking sound with her tongue. “He’s not my lover. He’s just my boss and I’m his assistant. That’s it. I’m a classified business consultant and accountant, but fucking artichoke, I didn’t waste my entire career just to be nagged at like that. “

“And by nag, do you mean have crazy make-up sex on his desk?” Saidelle gives her sister a knowing glance to which Nhadelle simply waves off with a sleigh of hand.

“The sex makes up for it sometimes. But do tell me, are you really going to take up that job he’s offering you?”

“Of course; I will do it. Saidelle doesn’t say no to two million dollars.”

“You got to stop calling yourself via third person whenever you’re serious.”

“It makes me sound smart.”

“On the contrary, you just sound stupid.”

“Saidelle will kill Nhadelle,” She says lightly but the all-too-familiar twinge in her heart resurfaces as Nhadelle’s expression turns dark for a second. Saidelle rarely gets irritated but when she does, it’s not pretty. And mostly it’s because of stupid little things like the fact that her very own sister is scared of her. Nhadelle should know better than that, but unfortunately she doesn’t. Her sister (the only remaining blood relative she has) should know that Saidelle won’t do anything to hurt her. Heck, she can’t even playfully hit her lightly if she wanted to.

The younger clenches her jaw and fakes a smile, a telltale smile that she’s mad. Nhadelle obviously notices this and tries to recreate a better conversation and move on to a different topic. This amused Saidelle but a micro scar is now etched in her already-calloused heart.

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Everything down below is so peaceful. The sharp-eyed girl thinks, inhaling a lungful of air; hands tight against the railing in the rooftop. The sky is pitch dark and only illuminated from lights emanated from the skyscrapers and cars and streetlights twenty-floors below her.

It’s a weird feeling, really. Beeps and screeches from the sound of traffic fail to reach her but with her vision; she could still grasp what’s happening. It’s like being on the outside looking in, but of course; she can still be a part of that chaotic environment whenever she wishes to. It’s moments like these, when the cold wind sends shivers to her skin while being surrounded by muted lights when she actually feels alive. Her chilled hand moves to the back pocket of her jeans and she brings out a crumpled paper containing necessary information about Alex Park.

He’s dead and Saidelle knows he’s not coming back any time soon to waste any more oxygen supply. Alex Park is history. She takes her favorite lighter [which says I used this hand to masturbate, now; wouldn’t you like to steal it? In small bold letters across it], twists it like a pro then sets the scratch paper on fire.

The fire illuminates her face and she can’t bring herself to put the lit paper down. It’s warm, she tells herself although it’s starting to get uncomfortably hot. Three seconds later, she drops it down and steps on it. Her indifferent mind thinking that in the course of one week, she’d be doing the same thing again (for the billionth time); but next time, the paper would be inscribed with Bryle Cardin’s name.