And then I die

3. Surviving

Manuel

We don't go far since we came here separately and it would be a waste to burn oil, so we go to a cafe close by. It's close enough that we can walk there, and if I strain my neck, I can even see her car, a red Mercedes-Benz. It's like her coat, flashy, and it's nothing she would even think of buying.

I almost start to think of her, which is odd. I can think of her, but not them like she isn't interwoven into the scenario that has brought me to this. That has made me into this.

I throw the thought away and look at the girl sitting across from me. She reminds me of her. Only Jennifer isn't mixed race, and her cheeks are really round. They are actually so round they steal away from her age.

"You're twenty-five?" I ask her. Those are three of the ten words I've spoken since we sat down. It might not seem like a lot, but it is, coming from me.

I didn't used to be like this. I can almost see the old me walking around the hallways in school, not necessarily the person who was on top, but I used to be sure and free. There is nothing about me that can be defined as such now. I'm shackled to my past, and I can't see how I can ever be certain ever again.

"Yeah, I'm a paralegal at Freeform," she says.

Freeform is trouble for someone like me. They are an organisation of people who want to overthrow the Free Crime Policy that most of the countries in the world follow. It didn't used to be like that, but ever since organised crime was accepted and taxed, the world economy has stabilized and grown. Thanks to it, the rate of poverty has shrunk tremendously, but the Freeform Org believes this is because half of the poor people got sold/murdered or joined the OCs during the transition.

I don't comment on her job. Instead, I tell her I used to aspire to be a lawyer when I was young. To which she asks why not anymore, and I tell her I didn't think I could change the world anymore. It's like I said the right thing because she starts talking nonstop about how there are still so many things that individuals could do to eliminate the free reign of crimes that are diminishing people and morals.

"This is the worst time to be alive. You could be killed, raped or traded off at any second, and no one would pay for it even if it were caught on camera,"

That's not what we were taught at St. X, but I let her talk because she doesn't know me. She doesn't know that I am on the other side. But am I really on the other side? When was the last time I was involved in anything? The most contribution I have are Wednesday Family Dinner at my uncle's. 

I spot a pair of curls in my peripheral, and they look just like hers. I hate that I still see her without even trying, like my mind misses her enough to make her appear before me. Like my heart still loves her, so it tries to conjure her through these delusions.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I try to be as suggestive as I can be, I'm out of practice, but I never was much of a flirt. That was all my brother's field.

 
She nods, and I don't know why I go for her, but my mouth is on hers before we've even left the cafe. And the contact reminds me of so much, but right on the fore of my mind is the thought that I was more than hungry. And I definitely had the appetite for it.

I can't believe she is letting me kiss her, but she is. She tastes good and judges from how her breath hitches I do, too.

I know that we're moving too fast when I open my car and we get on the back seat. I know, and I am not too far gone to keep going. So, I move away from her and apologise. Her shirt is already open, and one of her bra cups is lopsided. How was I so fast?

The look on her face informs me that I will never hear that laugh again. She looks mortified. I am so uncomfortable I drive away as soon as she is out of my car, I don't even offer an explanation.