Page 35 of Massacre Monday

It feels amazing to step through the door of my place, the smell familiar and comforting. Immediately upon entering, I put the food cartons on the table, pull out my laptop, and check the program I’ve been running all day.

The stresses of tonight melt away as I take my first bite of steak and see what’s on the screen. A fucking match. Bingo!

The software pings—password cracked her email. She really used her middle name and high school graduation year? Fucking adorable.

I enter it and hit the jackpot. Before she’s alerted, I send myself log-in data for every account she owns. Within half an hour, I’ve got her university information, her bank charges, so I know what she spends money on and, most importantly, her text messages, which I hurriedly download to a second phone. I’ll get to read any she sends, too.

Using another monitor, I pull up her social media on one screen, her emails and Congo shopping history on the smaller one, and her texts open on my tablet.

It’s like an online diary of my pink cheeks right here in front of me. My eyes don’t know where to feast first.

In an hour, I’ve delved so much into her life, I almost forget to bring up her camera feed from her room and do that on my phone, tracking her location as she crosses campus while anticipation stirs inside me. I’ll get to see her again in just a moment.

As I pant like a dog waiting for her to arrive, I realize that I’ve never felt this way in my life. There’s no one else I’ve caredenough to do this with, other than trying to sabotage someone or for business purposes.

I catch a glimpse of myself in my floor-length mirror, an inescapable smile plastered on my face, a dreamy look in my eyes… This is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.

A knock interrupts my moment, and I turn my phone over so whoever it is doesn’t see the footage. Probably Lan coming over to apologize for being a dick or to annoy me.

But when I open the door, Elina stands there with a sorrowful look on her face and a big pan of something under foil. “Hi. I brought you your favorite!”

All the joy I’d been feeling gets sucked into the atmosphere while I stare at my future wife. She doesn’t wait for me to respond and dips under my arm, aiming for the kitchen as I shut the door behind her. “What’s my favorite, E?”

Busy carving up whatever it is, she grabs a plate and hands it to me. “My lasagna, duh!”

Maybe once, when we were teenagers, I told her I liked it because she was my girlfriend and I didn’t want to be mean, but she’s made it for me too many times since then. It’s too sweet. And bland. I set the dish down behind her.

As I get ready to tell her not to bring it over, her eyes become as round as saucers as she sidesteps me and creeps closer to the kitchen table. Damn it.

“Oh…” is all she says as she sees the screens of Pippi’s face on Pixtagram, pictures ofmein her room from this morning, and a video of Pippi from a year ago dancing solo in a seductive manner replaying over and over in the corner of the screen.

Hurriedly, I slam the laptop closed, but she’s already seen everything. Except the cameras and trackers. Both of us freeze and stare at each other. What’s most surprising to me? I really don’t give a shit about her feelings. Unless she tries to take themout on Pippi… Then I’ll remind her what the Cardells are capable of.

“She’s just—” I say but get interrupted.

“Don’t.”

Standing, I cross my arms and shrug. “I told you, E. You’ve got your friends, and I’ve got mine. I think it’s a good arrangement.”

“Until the Culling?”

With a snort, I smile. “Nah. I’ll probably just give you to one of those old men after. Watch their floppy sacks hit your chin.”

Her eyes narrow at me. “We werefifteen, Ryan. I made a little mistake.”

She’s baiting me into the tired argument we’ve had for years. “Elina, aside from the fact that you slept with my best friend back then, can you honestly say we have anything in common? Other than attending the same school, you and I are vastly different people.”

She has the nerve to spring tears to her eyes. “You wantherthat much?” With a perfectly painted fingernail, she points to my computer screen behind me. “I’ll be okay if she joins us in bed. You want to watch her and I together, is that it? A threesome?” Taking two steps, she presses her palms against my chest. “Will that make you happy?”

It’s not just her pleading that turns my stomach; it’s the vision of having toshareanything about Pippi that has my whole body tensing with rage.

I stare at Elina for so long that she wanders away through the front door, and when I lock it behind her, I lean my forehead on the metal frame. Eyes heating with emotion, I envision the future prescribed to me. The one I don’t want and never did.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be happy.”

twelve

Unknown number