Sasha, Not Aleks

seventeen - owen

SASHA

The hangover eases up by the late afternoon, a couple hours over a stove cooking random shit for mafia men would do that. It's not all the way gone but it's mostly gone.

It's been radio silence from Cora.

She seemed rather distraught by what she heard through the door at the shop and then that was it, I haven't heard anything. Normally she'll text me pictures of shit she finds in cars she's detailing occasionally, or maybe even a little note on a new idea for the mission, but today it seems like she's thrown her phone off a bridge and not bothered to even root through the water to find it again.

I'm halfway through an experimental teriyaki bowl, I've been on an asian food kick recently, though one wrong move might push me into a full blown african food phase, when there's a knock on my kitchen door.

I pull it open, half expecting to see my favorite mechanic. Instead-

"Owen," I clear my throat, smoothing down my apron with my greasy hands. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

Owen is body seven for me. He's the least heinous of all my father's soldiers and we met a couple months into his service here. He'd get killed if my Dad found out he slept with a man, much less me, but he's cute.

"Hi, can," he looks around, peeping into the kitchen "can we hook up or something? Anything?"

"Now?" I look around too, beef sizzling on the stove, kitchen a mess with ingredients.

"Please." He does look rather distraught.

I frown, stirring the chunks of meat and giving him a strong look, "what's going on?"

"I'm in trouble, I have to do something, I just- I need a distraction and it's been months and I just-"

I purse my lips, "what is he making you do?"

Owen looks like he's about to break down, dark curly hair all a wreck from pulling on it, dark skin paler and clammier than usual. He starts pacing, steel toed boots sticking slightly to the dirty tile in the kitchen, slacks uneven at the bottom, wrinkled everywhere else. His shirt has no visible iron creases, just ones from stress. He looks frazzled.

"I-I, you get it, right?" he asks. "I was bribed into this, I didn't want to do this, I didn't want to be in the fucking mob, I did something wrong and then he's making me do a year of service, I thought it was going to be nothing, done with this and some good old fashioned therapy and-" he cuts out, putting his hands over his head again.

I take the food off the stove and quickly pack it into a tupperware, "listen, I'm not really alright with hooking up with you right now and you seem very very out of it, so it's probably a bad idea anyway."

He shakes his head, "I need the distraction, I need it."

I raise my hands, "smoke something, I dunno, I'm not alright with that. I want to know what you have to do, though."

He leans back against the counter, head in his hands, "kill her."

"Kill who?"

"I dunno," he knits his hands back in his hair, "some lady at some party next week and-"

"Phillis Avery?" I take a shot in the dark.

He frowns, "how did you-"

I grab the front of his shirt and drag him toward the stairs, making sure the oven is off.

"I'm going to fucking kill my father," I whisper under my breath, lord knows he has this whole place wiretapped most likely.

"Aleks-" Owen winces when I shove him into my house.