Kasien （Age 18）
Kasien
I’m still sitting in my car in front of the garage entrance, windows down, the warm summer air drifting in while everything around me is swallowed by the quiet of the night.
The feeling of her is still here.
She has such a subtle scent. Something like warm vanilla, soft and barely there, yet addictive in a way that makes no sense. It lingers, like it settled somewhere under my skin instead of fading away.
It’s her hair.
Fuck.
Did she notice the way I kept leaning closer just to breathe it in? The way it pulled me in without asking?
She must think I’m a fucking freak.
She doesn’t have those expensive perfumes I’m sick of. She smells so nice—subtle, almost too young for the kind of world I’m used to. Like skin warmed by summer air, like something real.
Why was I so insistent? Where the hell did that come from?
My hand reaches into the glovebox almost on its own, fingers closing around her bracelet before slipping it back onto my wrist. I lean my head against the headrest, staring up into nothing, letting it sit there like it belongs to me now.
I can’t believe I actually insisted on going to her place. It was too much.
And still, the urge to see her again hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s worse.
I don’t think I’ve ever moved this fast—getting in my car, ready to go without thinking twice.
The night keeps replaying in my head, over and over, every moment stretched out and pulled apart as I go through it all over again, trying to figure out if I crossed a line somewhere.
She said I was nice.
I think she did.
I hope she did.
There was that smile—nervous, a little unsure, like she didn’t know what to do with it.
It was adorable.
My fingers drift back to my phone, unlocking it without thinking. The screen lights up on our messages, because that’s where my attention’s been ever since I got back, staring at them like they might change if I look long enough.
Thought about texting her. Good night. Or good morning. Something.
But now it’s way too late for that. Or too early. The sky is already starting to shift, the first hint of morning creeping in. That would be weird. Probably. Maybe I can wait. Text her later, when it makes sense.
Jesus.
No.
That’s pathetic.
I lock the phone and shift in my seat, sinking back into it, the quiet pressing in from all sides. I don’t feel like going inside.
?
You’re nice for a thief.
My neck aches like hell, stiff and wrong, and there’s a faint taste of drool at the corner of my mouth. The sharp sound of a text cuts straight through the fog in my head and drags me out of it. My eyes snap open, my head tilted awkwardly to the side.
I fell asleep.
I rub my eyes slowly, blinking against the light as I take in the inside of the car. The windows are still open, morning air drifting in, birds already awake and loud, the sun low but bright enough to make everything feel too real.
Early morning.
The notification.
I reach for my phone.
Sylvia: I need you in the basement, take Adrien.
My eyes fall shut again and I let my head drop back against the headrest with a quiet exhale.
My stupid brain really thought it was Kiara.
Of course it wasn’t.
I text Adrien and push the door open, stepping out of the car. Every part of my body protests—stiff, sore, heavy like I’m still half stuck in sleep. I managed two hours at best.
This is going to be a long day.
At least it’s Friday.
Why the hell does she want us in the basement?
I drag myself through the lobby, barely awake, when Adrien walks in from the opposite side. His eyes are red, dark circles carved deep underneath. He looks just as wrecked as I feel.
We stop for a second, just staring at each other—tired, irritated, done.
“You look horrible,” I mumble, voice rough as I fight off a yawn. “Didn’t sleep?”
“Not really. You?”
“Not really.”
The silence lingers for a beat, and then the corner of my mouth twitches. He catches it instantly, a grin breaking through his exhaustion as he shoves my shoulder lightly, something almost alive flickering back into his eyes.
“You’re gonna tell me everything later,” he says, hooking his arm around my shoulders as we head toward the stairs.
We make our way down together, both of us dragging our feet, yawning every few steps, the air growing colder the deeper we go. We open the basement door and find Sylvia standing by the door, on the phone.
A disgusting smell hits my nose. I turn my head and see the source.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I silently gag.
“Wha—what happened here?” I can barely talk as I’m holding the vomit.
“Javier went a little crazy with the interrogation. I need you to clean that, all the guys are in the city,” she tells us with such ease, not even bothering to look at us.
“Why doesn’t Javier clean this after himself?” Adrien argues, his voice angry and too loud.
He never learns.
Sylvia snaps her head toward him, ends the call, and walks up to Adrien slowly, looking at him like a cockroach she’s about to crush.
“Javier has more important things to do. Don’t make me remind you that you’re not even legally in this country. You should shut your mouth before I shut it myself,” she snaps at him through gritted teeth.
Her body is so small in front of us.
We could kill her right here.
We might.
If we just…
But instead, we stand there in silence before she walks around us and leaves.
Adrien drags his hands through his hair, frustration snapping loose in the movement before he drops into a squat, elbows on his knees, trying to calm himself down.
“Just one more year and we’re gone,” I murmur.
He gets up, exhales, and we both turn our gaze to look at the dead body.
“Just one more year,” he repeats after me more like he’s telling it to himself and exhales in surrender.
We grab gloves and pieces of cloth to tie around our mouths and noses, then get to work.
This is the first time something like this has happened inside the mansion. Sylvia hates having any dirty business done under her roof. She thinks it makes us look unprofessional. Too sloppy.
It used to be rare to deal with a body at all, and it was always somewhere far from here, behind closed doors in places nobody cared about.
But lately, things are shifting. I feel Adrien’s eyes on me when I crouch down. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
Something’s changing.
Varners are taking on jobs they never used to touch, messier ones and desperate ones. Work that drags blood closer to home.
Pieces of blown-out brain are scattered across the concrete basement floor.
I scrub the floor until my hands ache.
My mind is loud with Kiara’s voice from last night, keeping me from a breakdown as we move the limp body, the face unrecognizable, one of his eyes swollen shut, the other hanging half-open in a way that doesn’t look human anymore, as if the panic of his last minutes was still trapped there.
The cheekbone beneath it is crushed inward, leaving a black crater where bone used to be. The top of the head is blown open.
My insides keep turning in that familiar, uneasy way, while Adrien moves with eerie calm.
?
We spent the whole day cleaning the mess.
The body is now bagged and ready to be dealt with. My back is resting against the shower wall, water pouring down my body, my skin rubbed clean.
I’ve cleaned myself more than five times. If I do just one more scrub it’s gonna tear the skin. I turn off the water and my body slides down the shower wall, collapsing onto the floor.
I’m so fucking tired.
My mind keeps playing her laugh on repeat, like some hypnotic melody.
The cold tiles send shivers throughout me as I head out of the shower, grabbing my phone and cigarettes on the way. I sit on my balcony and unlock the phone, the messages with her still open. As soon as I see them, my body finally warms up, as if I got out of that basement just now.
I light up a cigarette and notice it’s already after ten in the evening. We were in that fucking basement for that long?
I want to hear it. I need to hear that laugh of hers to remind me that there is life outside this rotten place that could actually be mine.
The way I felt yesterday with her—I felt soft and stupid. Like a teenager.
I didn’t recognize myself.
And I liked that.
Sylvia hasn’t gotten to me yet. I know that now. She hasn’t sucked all the life out of me yet. It’s still there and I want it.
Kiara made me want it.
I inhale the toxic smoke and almost press the call button when it hits me that she might already be asleep.
I hesitate for a second.
Then I try anyway, sending a text instead.
Me: I hope I’m not waking you up.
K.: I’m awake, barely.
Me: Can I call?
K.: Only if you won’t be disgusted by my tired voice.
Me: Let’s try.
I press the call button before I can overthink it, and she picks up immediately.
“Hi.”
Fuck.
Her voice is soft, not just quiet, but soft in a way that slips under my skin before I can brace for it.
“Hi.” I pause, suddenly blank. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was just trying to.”
“What was keeping you awake then?”
There’s a small silence.
The corners of my mouth tug.
Please let it be me.
“I was,” she starts, letting out a quiet laugh, barely there, but I catch it anyway. “Thinking about my driving skills.”
That pulls a smile out of me instantly. I shift on the balcony sofa and stretch out on my back, staring up at the sky, where the first faint stars are starting to show.
“Yeah, about those. They're pretty bad.” I try to keep my voice serious, but it slips.
“What? You said I was doing well!”
“But I’m a liar, remember?”
“Right. I’ll remember that now.”
Another quiet moment settles between us, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels easy.
“Could you tell me about your day?” I break the silence.
She laughs under her breath.
“It was pretty boring, to be honest. What part of it are you interested in?”
“Any part.” I shift, phone pressed closer to my ear. “All of them.”
“Well, school was fine, Fridays usually are. Are you going to school?”
Shit.