“I don’t know what I did to be saddled with such an ungrateful child,” Aasia Rahmaan snapped irritably, glaring at the child in question.
“Maybe you were cursed,” her daughter Iman suggested, pressing her lips together in an effort to suppress her tears. Aasia was not worth the headache and swollen eyes a crying jag would give her.
“Probably by your grandfather!” Aasia flung back.
Iman rolled her eyes. “I’ll ask him for you,” she cooed in a sweet voice, lifting her messenger bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
“Iman, don’t you dare go and visit that man!” A vein stood out in Aasia’s forehead. “I forbid you to go and see him.”
“Fine,” Iman dropped down in a chair. “Of course, the money he sends will stop if he doesn’t see me,” she added.
Aasia froze. “What?”
“The money,” Iman repeated. The money that was the only reason she still enjoyed Aasia’s dubious hospitality.
“Fine. Go. And stay there for the night,” Aasia directed. “I don’t want to see you.”
Iman squeezed her eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, she called a greeting behind her and slammed the front door.
The urge to go back inside and shriek until her mother finally apologized was overwhelming. But Iman knew it would be futile. In the twenty two years Iman had been alive, Aasia’s behaviour had not changed once.
Iman looked at the lovely three-storey house. At first glance, it looked like a dream house. But when you looked closer, the cracks began to show. Just like Aasia’s little dream family, the facade wasn’t good enough to hold up under scrutiny.
I need to get out of here. Fast.
There was blood on his sleeve. How long had that been there?
Revolted, Adam yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor and went in search of another.
A closer examination of himself in the mirror revealed that it had gotten onto the strap of his holster too. Scowling, Adam unbuckled that too, removing the gun and tossing it onto his bed on his way to the bathroom.
A quick shower later and Adam was ready to finish cleaning up. The shirt went in a pile to be burned and the holster was dunked in a bucket of peroxide, as usual.
The routine of the actions struck him and Adam’s scowl returned. He was getting too used to being sloppy. Maybe it was time to take a break and brush up on his training, he mused.
There was a twinge of pain as he twisted and Adam looked down at the bandages circling his torso. It was definitely time for a break. Before he killed himself by accident rather than design.