Becoming his Moll

Marissa Bella Martina

Same shit different day. Working in the coffee shop gave me the funds to get by but not much else. It didn't matter. I rarely found joy in the mundane lifestyle like going to the cinema or out to dinner. I lived alone because I prefered it, no one around to bug me or piss me off. Mommy and daddy dead and no siblings left me alone in this world but hey can't blame them right? I'm sure they found their happiness at the end of those syringes who am I to judge if they cared about that more than they cared about their child. When I was born I was addicted to heroin. I was hosptialised for months after birth going through withdrawal among other issues but after that I was adopted into a "loving" family. Don't get me wrong they're loving it's just I could never really connect with them, I've always been anti social except for the teenagers I work with.

So I'm sure you can understand my surprise that what was about to happen definitely added some difference to my day.

"There he is again. Rissa would you make it? He always complains when I do it." I roll my eyes at Cait our latest employee. Don't get me wrong, she's sweet in that innocent 'I don't need a job I've got a trust fund' kind of way but still she sucks at this job and I don't know who would work in a coffee shop if they can't make coffee. Turning my head I see Mr Precise as we call him. He's older at about 40-45 graying flecks through his hair although he's always pristine. Fresh pressed 3 button suit and tie and even a fedora, he strolls in and picks up the paper like he does everyday and takes the same seat by the window that he always has. No one aside from him ever uses that table because of the window glare but Mr Precise has never minded it seems. I get to work on his complicated coffee order. There is very little point in doing it, he only ever has 1 sip to ensure it is made correctly and then leaves the rest of the cup even though everytime he orders it large. Aside from relaying his specific order that has to be heated to precisely 75C I think it's fucking stupid as he never drinks it anyway but here I am making it the same as always so imagine my surprise that when I look up chaos has began to reign as Mr Precise's body falls to the ground from his chair with a hole through his temple, if that wasn't enough of a clue he'd been shot then the ringing in my ears definitely was. That among the screaming of customers who are ducking, running and hiding everywhere.

So you may wonder why I am not doing the same thing well it's because this is not my first rodeo. I have seen many people shot dead from a young age after living in the slums most of my life and it appears that death by murder no longer has the effect on me that maybe it should if I was normal. I move my eyes from Mr Precise to the window he was shot from and gaze at a man who is just stood there, gun in hand looking through the glass at the body. I don't know why I'm leaning over the counter almost bored with this situation knowing that now I'll have to be interveiwed and blah blah blah but my complete ease with the situation seems to have caught the attention of said shooter who's gaze meets mine as calm and collected as I am. His brow furrows slightly as his head cocks aside looking at my face, his face remains void of emotion until and unusual albeit devistating smile appears on his lips as he returns the gun to his holder at his back. I can't lie he is fucking hot and I know I shouldn't say it but meh who cares. The thick muscular arms covered in black ink that strain against his plain black tshirt as well as his chest and broad shoulders. his thick tree trunk thighs almost ripping through his jeans look solid and sturdy definitely a gym goer that's for sure, he's at peak physical condition. The perfect balance between too big or too small he's sat neatly on the border. I don't understand why he hasn't moved yet, he knows he'll go down for this and yet here I am oggling the man while he seems to return the favour looking me up and down with what's visible from over the counter.

I've remained unmoving but I can hear Cait crying on the phone to the police. God what a pussy, if he wanted you dead Cait you would be. I roll my eyes inwardly and I don't know what pocessed me to do it but using my hand I created the gang sign for police it's not like I haven't seen it enough in my life. His sharp curved eyebrow raises and he nods once with a lingering look before turning on his heal and strolling very casually down the street. I have no idea why I saved him, maybe it's because I've seen too many innocent people get sent down and before you jump on me for saying it I know nothing about who Mr Precise was but someone wanted him and only him dead for what would be a very good reason no doubt so yeah, they'll likely find that guy one day but who knows and who cares. Mr Precise was always a prick anyway, anytime a girl messed up he'd make them cry with his foul and sharp tongue o fuck him quite honestly and with that the sound of sirens fills the air and once again I roll me eyes. I really cannot be fucked with this shit right now.