GRAY

nine

Roman

The elevator dings.

The doors fall apart.

Holding my briefcase, I walk to my apartment. It's the only house on this floor. A penthouse.

I grab my keys from the pockets of my pants. I'm about to unlock the door when I realise that it's slightly ajar.

My heart sinks. Someone is inside.

I grab a gun from my briefcase and silently swing the door open. The house is dark. The TV is on. The windows are open.

My stomach curls when I hear some strange noise coming from the kitchen. The light is on. I tiptoe towards the kitchen, pointing the gun in that direction.

I burst the door open and someone screams. A loud scared scream. I drop the gun, relief washing through me.

"Anton!" I sigh. "What the fùck are you doing here?"

"Eating crisps!" He snaps. "Why the fùck are you pointing a gun at me? And why the fùck do you have a fùcking gun?"

My little brother is sitting on the marble floor of the kitchen with a bag of crisps on his lap. He's looking at me with fright on his face.

"I work for the government, remember?" I shrug. "I have to carry protection with me all the time."

"Same."

"Same what?"

"I have to carry protection with me all the time." He grins. "Girls want to fùck me all the time. Thanks to this face."

Anton is the youngest and maybe the funniest. As the years go by, he looks more and more like our mother. His perfectly symmetrical face. His brown eyes. His long brown hair. His thick eyebrows. His long pointed nose. His red full lips. His smooth skin, almost silken. That beautiful face is all thanks to our mother's genes. Unfortunately, I look more like our father. Something that I wish I could change.

I leave him in the kitchen and walk back to the livingroom to lock the door and tuck my gun in the briefcase.

I flip the switch on and watch the light bathe the livingroom. I missed home. This is where I spend all my time, planning my next move or taking a break from work.

I sleep on that big black couch more than I sleep in my bed. I'm sure that brown wooden table is tired of my long legs and stinky socks. I have a nasty habit of crossing my legs on the table. I rarely watch that huge flatscreen TV. I only bought it because my best friend bullied me into buying it. The long curtains hanging on the window are also black. Everything is black here. Even the rug.

I dump my black leather shoes at the door. Take off my black suit. Toss it on the couch. Take off my golden watch. Put it on the table. Then I unbutton my long-sleeved shirt as I walk back to the kitchen.

Anton is still on the floor, eating crisps and scrolling through his phone. I look down at him, glaring at his sneakers.

"No shoes in the kitchen."

"What?"

"You heard me." I say sharply. "Go back to the livingroom and leave your shoes at the door."

"Fine." He growls. "Clean freak."

A few minutes later, Anton is back in the kitchen. Not only did he take his shoes off but also his green hoodie. He's now left with a graphic tee and ripped jeans.

"Good boy." I smile.

He huffs as he grabs the bag of crisps and sits on the island this time. It always shocks me a little everytime I look at his hands. They are both covered in tattoos. So is his neck and chest. I'm surprised that he hasn't been tempted to tattoo his face. The only things on his face are piercings. An eyebrow piercing and a nose piercing.

I fold my sleeves and walk to the fridge.

"Have you eaten?" I ask him.

"Crisps only."

"No, like real food?"

"Not yet."

"And you're wondering why you keep getting skinny."

"That's bodyshaming." He says. "And it's evil."

I grab the apron and start making some pasta and beef. I chop the onions and switch on the cooker. I dump the onions in the frying oil, making a sizzling sound.

"Why would you leave the door open, Anton?" I ask. "That's not safe, you know?"

"I forgot."

"The next time you forget, I might come to an empty house. Or worse, a dead you. Forgetting is an expensive and dangerous mistake that we can't afford."

"A dead me?" That caught his attention. "Are you some drug lord or what? What do you really do in that government job of yours?"

"I chase dangerous people." I force a smile. "That's all you need to know."

**

An hour later, we're sitting in the livingroom eating dinner.

It's almost midnight. And we are watching 'The Late Night' show. I missed doing this with him. Eating dinner at midnight as we watch some funny show. It's one of the few times that I don't regret buying this TV.

"Why are you here, Anton?"

"Because I missed my big brother." He smiles.

I missed him too.

The last time I saw him was six months ago when I checked him out of rehab. I've been keeping contact with him, making sure he's doing okay and staying clean. But this is the first time that I've seen him in a long time and he looks better than okay.

"How's work?" I ask.

"Good." He shrugs. "I still hate my boss though."

"We all hate our bosses."

He works at a bookstore and lives in a little apartment near the shop. From the look of things, the job seems good for him.

After supper, I dump my dish in the sink and say goodnight to my brother. I'm exhausted from a twelve-hour flight. I need some rest.

My bedroom is massive with floor-ceiling windows. Unlike the livingroom, everything here is white. White curtains. White duvet. White sheets. Even white pillows. I take off my clothes and hop in the shower.

Standing in the shower, my mind takes me back to Maldives. Me and Juliette in the ocean. Kissing wildly. Me and Juliette in her room. Fùcking like rabbits. Me and Juliette in the bathtub. Rubbing her tears. Me and Juliette in bed. Spooning her. Me and Juliette at the beach. Staring at the sunrise.

I've never done that with a woman before. I only sleep with escorts. Strictly. I book a hotel. We fùck on the bed. I pay them. End of story. But Juliette made me break that strict rule. We had the most intimate and intense sèx I've ever had. And it scared me...

I gave her an invalid number. She'll probably think it was a mistake. Or she'll figure out that it was intentional and I ghosted her. She'll probably hate me. I want her to hate me. If she hates me, she'll stay away from me. And if she stays away from me, there'll be no chance of us being that intimate. She's dangerous to my mission. She's dangerous to my mind. But most of all, I'm dangerous to her. I'm dangerous to her life. The best thing for the both of us is distance.

After the shower, I put on my pajamas and slide in bed.

I stare at the ceiling for a long moment as the wild night in Maldives replays in my head like a fùcking movie. Juliette's moans play in my head like sweet music, torturing me. Haunting me.

I wonder if she already found out that I gave her an invalid number...

**

I wake up angry.

Juliette followed me to my dreams. I can't run away from her. Not in real life. Not in dreamland.

We were back in Maldives on our wedding. Our friends and family were there. It was a blissful ceremony. What the fùck was that? I'm already dreaming about marrying a complete stranger? What the fùck is wrong with me?

I hop out of bed and leave my room.

Before entering the kitchen, I hear Anton talking to someone on the phone in a low tone.

"No, trust me." He says. "He's my big brother. And he works for the government. He'll give me the money."

My heart breaks a little. I really thought he was here because he missed me. Ofcourse he wants money.

I walk into the kitchen when he hangs up. His face lights up when he sees me. He pours me some black coffee. I take a sip as he serves it with some toasted bread and scrambled eggs.

Anton sits across from me as he chews on the bread, watching me.

"You should hire me as your personal chef, Rome." He grins. "You could be waking up to this everyday."

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"The eggs aren't done." I stab them with the fork. "There's white stuff. And the coffee tastes like shìt. And the toast is overcooked. You'd be a shìtty chef."

"Can't you just show me that you're proud of me for once?" He frowns. "I woke up to make you breakfast because I thought that would make you happy. I thought that would make you proud of me for once. But you can't do that, can you? You always have to make me feel like shìt so you can feel good about yourself. It's clear now. You are my biggest hater."

"Why did you come here, Anton?"

"Because I missed you!" He blurts out.

"Bullshit!" I snap. "It's because you want money! Just heard you talking to your friend! Sorry to burst your bubble but I don't have charity money! You're not getting a single cent from me when I know you'll just use it on drugs!"

"It's not for drugs!" He snaps back. "I'm clean! I've been clean for six months!"

"Then what is it for!"

"My career." He pauses. "My rap career."

"Get the fùck out of my house."

"Are you kicking me out?"

"Yes." I scowl at him. "I'm going for a run. When I come back, I want this kitchen clean and you gone."

**

When I come back from the run, I find him gone.

But the kitchen is not clean. And some few things are missing. The black leather shoes are not at the door. The golden watch is not on the table. And my iPhone is not on the couch.

I toss myself on the couch and bury my face in my hands. I shouldn't have trusted him with a spare key. The reason I gave him the key is because I wanted to show him that I trust him. He just broke that trust. I'm changing the locks immediately. The next time I see him, I'm knocking his teeth out.

"BREAKING NEWS!"

I look up at the TV. Anton left it on. I read the headlines in shock and disbelief.

HELLEN HANSEN ACCUSES JULIETTE JENNER FOR THE MURDER OF HER SON.

****