I don’t feel the same way

She doesn't seem surprised. Her pupils glide away. “Flora,” she says. “That sucks.”

“Doesn’t change things, does it?”

“Not at all,” Scarlet’s voice is dangerously flat, and her eyes sharpen to a degree of a razor’s edge. “I’m not going to put my anger out on you, so don’t worry about that.”

“In different circumstances, I think we would have—“

“Shut up,” she pokes you hard in the chest with a stiff finger. “I appreciate the honesty. But don’t you dare tell me about circumstances other than the one we’re in. A little word of advice, don’t do that to a girl that’s just admitted her feelings for you.”

…

…

Scarlet promised she wouldn’t take her anger out on you, and after renewing your workload with her, you realized she had plenty of pent-up anger in her system. She became much more hands-on with the contracts, and she expected you to do the same. You didn’t have a problem with doing that, but what you did grow tired of was the **** that ensued for any lingering survivors.

She’d mention her sadistic curiosity about the limitations of man. Knives, pliers, and knuckles. She often pretended to be more in search of information, but she really just in it for her own gain. The release of emotion was intense in these sessions of nail-pulling, teeth-breaking, skin-cutting spin-off contracts. Suddenly, her name didn’t compliment her hair but was a cruel reminder of what her hands looked like after making a man scream.

Between contracts, she also drank more. Even though she was a quiet drunk, you could feel the anger fermenting whenever you laid beside her in bed or shared the quarters of the room with her, either cleaning gear or trying to unwind after a contract of torment. The worst example of Scarlet’s “experiments” happened to a guy during your sixth contract that managed to cut her with her own knives. Details of his **** are left better unsaid.

You both filtered into your room at Tiny’s Tavern. You both went inside the bathroom. Somehow, you also went to the bathroom. You intended to brush your teeth, but Scarlet began to wash her hands, ridding her palms of the crimson that was dried beneath her gloves.

Your eyes meet in the mirror. “Happy with yourself?”

She grins without saying anything. So, you continue. “What’s left in the stack? We’re nearing the end now, I’m sure.”

“About a dozen more, but after these last 6… we ought to slow down so we cause any heads to duck under. How should we celebrate?”

The girl continues to scrub the blood away, indifferent to the gore she’s gladly produced.

“We could eat at one of the many 5-star restaurants in the area,” you supply. “Or drink downstairs until I have to carry you up the stairs.”

“I won’t be spending the first day off hungover,” she starts to dry her hands. “We should go out to eat. Out. Away from here. Highlight?”

“Haven’t been there in a while. Are they still open to outsiders? With all this snow, I mean.”

“Everything will be inflated because of all this snow. Meat and fresh produce are next to impossible to get in, so it’s all hiked. Who cares, though? It’s on Amara’s dime.”

You looked at your watch. It’s late. “Won’t be open even. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is then…” she lingers for a second and sighs. “Does all this bug you?”

"The dinner? Of course not."

Scarlet licks her teeth as she shakes her head. “The contracts. I don’t want to scare you.”

“Oh,” you have to think for a moment. “I guess not. It’s sloppy from how I do things, but you told me you had to send a message, and there’s no better than a messy red one in the middle of the hideout of these guys.”

“Sloppy,” she says it like a curse. “What’s more scary? The devil that leaves a mess, or the phantom that makes someone simply disappear?”