Nonny asdfghjk why you gotta do this to me? 😂😂 This is an impossible ask! I mean... i obviously know who to kill, but i don't want to f*ck or marry Sterling 😮😭
After careful consideration though, i came up with a plan - or a story, more or less. May contain triggers.
Let's set the scene, shall we?
Three Stories
I am a top secret government agent. My job, ambiguous and difficult as it is, will have me travelling anywhere and everywhere. So travel shall i, under false aliases and many covers, keeping my head down and getting the job done.
One night in Boston, my latest place of assignment, i walk into a dingy, old school bar - bruised and battered. It's not everyday that i am run down like this, but some days are harder than others. Some days, it gets physical, and despite all the ruthless training i have recieved, eggshell yellows and blackish purples lace the thick skin I have learned to grow over the years.
But that's okay. After all, i have always known what i was getting into. It's the job, and nobody quite does it like i can.
I settle in onto a bar stool, my black leather jacket and dark skinny jeans seamlessly blending into the aesthetic of the pub. The bartender walks over, "what'll it be?", he asks.
"A scotch, neat." I answer, without raising my head. "And keep them coming."
I hear a sound coming from my left. "That sounds like recipe for a hangover."
Annoyed, i raise my head to seize up the owner of the voice. "And if i may ask, what's it to you?" My voice is humorless, dry.
They have this... honey-colored warmth to them. Eyes that have drank the love of the sun. He smiles like i am the only person in the room, and my breath hitches in my throat.
Well, this is ridiculous.
"The bartender over there is a friend." He casually explains. "I don't want him staying late cleaning up puke. Surely you can understand."
"Surely." I murmur. "But you'll see i have built up quite the tolerance."
"So you have." All of a sudden, he's alarmed. "Wait, are you okay?" I realize he's trying to inspect the bruise at the side of my neck. I shrug. "I'm good. Occupational hazard."
He looks unsure, but nods. "Either way, you should get that checked."
My lips curl in amusement. "Truly? Is that your professional opinion?"
"Actually, yeah." He grins. "Dr. Bryce Lahela, your favorite surgical intern." He extends a hand.
"Gemma Hawkins." I shake Bryce's hand - he's skin is soft but the hold is firm. I try not to shiver.
"Gemma, really? You don't look like a Gemma."
I snort, taking a generous sip from my drink. What is up with this guy? Obviously it's not my real name - but no one's ever questioned one of my aliases before.
"And you don't look like a surgeon." I note.
"Ouch." Bryce chuckles. "Look, Gemma, or... whoever you are. I was hoping i could buy you another drink actually."
"Oh yeah? I was hoping you could show me the way back to your place."
I see him pause for the fraction of a second, but then, he so readily slips back to his carefree smile. "You're certainly forward."
"Like i said. Occupational hazard." I see his gaze flicker to my lips.
"I'll lead the way." He says.
So he does, and the next morning, i am gone much before he wakes.
"Elizabeth Everdeen, do you take this man, Bryce Sterling, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Behind a shitload of lace veils the Sterling family has seen proper and the fake smile i've plastered on my face like a war paint, my lips curl. "I do."
The things i do for this job, really. This time, my assignment file flew me to a little town named Birchport - to infiltrate the Sterling family whom practically owns the town and expose their shady business deals.
The man in front of me is a definition of scumbag, that he is. But getting him to marry me instead of his older brother Tanner is less of a suspicious job. Tanner is, and always have been, the so called pearl of the Sterling family. The heir. Bryce, however - his parents doesn't really care about his hopeless self. They're jusy glad he found someone unscandalous, so to speak.
Even as i am wearing this white dress that i absolutely detest, i am unworried. I'll get to expose them soon, and they'll all go to jail.
And the absurd but practical means to an end that is this ordeal of a marriage, will fail.
"Drop the gun!" I shout. My hands do not tremble.
Alongside me are a few more agents and some police officers. We are all carefully positioned in the shape of a circle, entrapping a young guy and the girl he's pointing a gun against her forehead, within.
"After you." He smirks. "I won't hesitate to shoot, you know."
One of the agents, she starts approaching them from behind, sneakily. I try to distract him as she does.
"I won't repeat it once again. Let the girl go." I dictate, my voice clear and loud.
"Is that an order?" He starts cheekily, but soon realizes the string of movements behind him. I see him getting ready to pull the trigger, holding his victim viciously close.
I have no choice but to shoot first.
I'm in Boston again - but not for another job. This, for all i know, is a vacation, and a sorely needed one at that.
I pull out my phone from my pocket and type in Donahue's; that dingy bar i have visited almost a year ago. It's a stupid hope, but... i have to go there.
It's the only way i'll ever feel at peace.
The night doesn't feel so dark this time, and as i enter, i am greeted by a silly soundtrack of a movie rising from the kareoke machine.
There he is, up at the stage. Busting out moves, busting out lyrics. He's on fire and is goofily laughing all the while - a level of freedom i sometimes wish to have. Once his song is over, i approach him. He is suprised to see me but smiles nonetheless.
"Hey you." I say. "If it's alright, i think i'm ready to have that drink now."
Tagging @lady-kato because i think she might be interested!
