chapter 6: the rooftop

After her few peaceful yet fleeting moments of silence, a low voice from behind interrupted her much-needed social vacation.

"Writing major?" The smooth, feminine voice held a familiar darkness that made the girl's ears hot.

August jumped, turning around to see the tall woman standing against the closed door of the stairway. Her arms were crossed, her stance similar to how it had been when she had leaned against the doorframe of August's bathroom that day nearly a week ago.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" August snapped, angry that she couldn't even get some alone time on the rooftop. Her anger also rooted from the fear rising inside of her—she was sick of this feeling in her gut that haunted her every waking moment.

"Hello to you too, sunshine," the woman joked, stepping closer. This time she wore a grey Cornell hoodie and black pants, but she still strutted in the same black combat boots. Her wavy, black hair blew gently in the wind, making August realize that the woman seemed even more real than when she last saw her.

"Don't fucking call me that. Don't fucking get any closer to me, you psychopath!" August yelled, pointing her pen up at the nearing woman menacingly.

"Oh my God, my worst fear—ink poisoning," the woman remarked, still walking closer, a devilish smile spreading across her cheeks.

August felt helpless as the woman blatantly disobeyed her and kept coming closer. "Do you like having eyeballs? Because this pen can do a lot more than just catastrophically poison your bloodstream, you fucking bitch."

The woman's full lips turned into a tight "O" shape, her dark eyebrows scrunching. "Ooh, that one hurt. We're on a first name basis, then?"

"No, never, now get the hell away from me!" August continued yelling, her small voice cracking as she still held the pen up as if it would do any good in protecting her. Deep down she knew it wouldn't, and she was aware of how pathetic and defenseless she looked, crumpled on the ground holding up a damn pen, in comparison to the tall woman standing over her whom she had witnessed murder a man and who had pressed a knife against her own neck.

"Hey, stop being so cruel. I want to know your name. I can't have my people keep following you around when they don't even know your name." Now right in front of August, the woman crouched down and sat a few feet away from the girl who still held the pen up, aiming between the woman's vigilant eyes.

"I'm not the cruel one here. And tell your 'people' to stop following me! I'm sick of it!" she screeched, her lips curling in anger. She had grown so tired of constantly feeling watched. The paranoia was beginning to eat away at every part of her.

"I can't do that," the woman casually said, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at the dark sky. "Happy Halloween, by the way." The woman was not bothered nor scared of August and her pen.

August didn't say anything. She held the pen up fiercely, watching as the woman turned her eyes towards the girl, looking amused at the sight in front of her. She noticed the sharpness of the dark woman's cheekbones and the olive yet fair tint of her skin. For a murderer, she was pretty.

The green eyes flickered to the open journal in August's lap that had messy writing scrawled all across the pages. "Is that your diary?"

"No," August firmly but quietly said, closing the journal and finally putting down the pen, knowing it wouldn't help her anyways.

"Can I read it?"

"No." She held the book close to her, glaring at the woman as if she were a child who was afraid their candy was going to be taken away.

The woman noticed this childlike behavior, smirking as she reached into her pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. She took one between her lips and pulled out a lighter, feeling the warmth against her cold hands as she lit the cigarette. Taking a deep inhale, she looked over at the girl who watched her intently. "Want a smoke?"

"I don't smoke," she countered, putting her pen and journal back into her bag since she apparently wouldn't have any alone time to write, considering the woman obstinately did whatever she pleased.

"I didn't ask if you smoked." The woman let a cloud of smoke flow from her mouth, and images of the boy with the vape at the party popped up in August's mind. Slender hands pulled out a singular cigarette from the half-empty pack and held it out to the girl. "Have one."

"I don't want one," August growled, sick of the woman pushing her. Why couldn't she just take "no" for an answer?

"Smoke one," she prompted. "One won't kill you." The emphasis she put on such a dangerous word sent shivers down August's spine, and so did the smirk that followed it. Her long lashes fluttered over her clear green eyes, her pink lips puffing smoke from her own cigarette. A few strands of her hair fell in front of her face, her hair so dark it reflected the moonlight sitting in the sky above the two as if it were the watcher instead of the watched.

"You probably laced it with either anthrax or molly." August eyed her apprehensively.

The woman only froze, staring at the girl dumbfounded. "First of all, I am not even sure if that's quite literally possible. Second of all, it is quite rude to deny someone's ever-gracious offer." The tune of her voice tilted, an air of playfulness around her that only made August's defenses raise. She was trying to gain her trust, August could tell, and the girl was determined to not let her gain it.

August rolled her eyes and looked away. "You're talking about rude?"

"Just take the damn cigarette," she impatiently snipped, blowing out of her face the few strands of hair that had fell. "And while you're at it, tell me your name."

Contemplating her decision, August decided that it would probably be safer for her to take the cigarette instead of disobeying the woman. She would probably cut her head off or something.

She slowly reached her arm out and took the cigarette between her two fingers, being extra careful to not touch the woman's hand.

The woman noticed this, and gave her an offended look. "Do my hands look dirty or something?"

Blush rising to her cheeks, August twirled the thin cigarette between her fingers, feeling the paper brush against her skin. "No, it's just that my skin would probably melt off or something."

The woman chuckled, raising the cigarette to her lips. Exhaling smoke, she pressed, "Name, please?"

"Lighter, please?"

Smirking, the woman held the green transparent lighter out to the girl. "You can keep that. In case any of my men get handsy."

Slowly taking the lighter, August asked, "Handsy?"

The woman nodded, scanning her eyes down the girl's body. She was so small, so pretty, so innocent. She knew how her gang, especially the men, could be. For some reason unknown to her, she didn't want the girl getting hurt. "And I figured it would at least make you look a lot cooler than you do holding a hairbrush or a pen."

"So you want me to set them on fire?" August asked as she cautiously lit the cigarette, having no experience doing it before. After the cigarette seemed lit enough to her, she slipped the lighter into her bag. It did make her feel a bit safer, even though she was aware she could possibly set the whole university on fire.

"What else would you do with a lighter?" the woman mumbled while smiling, taking another drag from her soon-to-be-finished cigarette.

"August."

The woman turned her head to face the girl, her sharp eyes staring at her with confusion. "What?"

"My name," August whispered before clearing her throat, awkwardly holding the cigarette up close to her mouth. "That's my name."

"August..." the woman whispered, letting every single syllable roll off her tongue. "That's a...unique name."

"Thanks?" August muttered as she took the first drag of her cigarette, immediately choking on the smoke.

The woman heartily laughed at her, which surprisingly eased August's nerves about being around her, but she was too focused on trying to cough the itchy, burning sensation out of her throat to notice. "Jesus," August whispered.

A smile stayed on the woman's face as she watched the girl immediately put the cigarette out. "You've never smoked before," she observed rather than asked.

August shook her head, tossing the cigarette over the roof, the crumpled stick barely making it by hitting the ledge first before rolling over and dropping out of sight.

"Well, thanks for wasting my cigarette," the woman muttered before putting out her own cigarette that had reached its end.

August watched as the woman tossed the cigarette over the ledge, hers not hitting it first before bouncing over the way August's did. Her eyes glanced back to the woman who was staring out over the campus, her features darkened by the night. August captured this moment in her mind, of the mysterious woman whom she was somewhat connected to now. For the first time, she saw the woman in a candid way, not pressing her knife to her throat or intently watching her smoke her first cigarette. Her eyes lowered to her Cornell hoodie.

"Do you go here?" she asked, her fingers finding a loose string on her jeans and picking it out.

An unsettled feeling came over her stomach when the woman's light eyes met hers with a seriousness that hadn't been present in their current meeting. "No. I stole this hoodie from the gift shop."

August nervously chuckled, wondering what the woman had been thinking about when she was staring into the distance that made her suddenly serious. August brushed it away. "Then how did you get into my classroom that day?"

"I just slipped in for the day. I'm pretty sneaky," the woman said, smirking over at the girl.

The brunette noticed that the woman was obviously older than most college students. She assumed she was probably in her late twenties or early thirties. Taking a short breath in, she contemplated for a second before deciding that maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask the woman her age. "So... How old are you?" Her voice was uneasy, careful to not offend the woman whom she didn't trust one bit.

Chuckling and looking down at her bent knees that she hung her arms over, the woman replied, "You're never supposed to ask a woman that."

"Well..." August began, not knowing why she wanted to know more about the woman so badly, "I will tell you my age if you tell me yours."

The woman looked August over, already knowing she was probably a freshman. "Alright. I'm 29."

The woman looked much younger than that, but at the same time she had this sophistication and grace that made her seem way beyond her years. August now felt like a child while telling her her age. "I'm, um, 18. I just turned it a couple weeks ago."

The older woman nodded, realizing how young the girl really was. She was barely 18, fresh out of high school. She had her whole life ahead of her, yet it wasn't even promised. The girl was at Cornell, an Ivy League school, with a bright future hanging above her head with a large "maybe" sign written under it. And the fact that it was up to the woman what that "maybe" meant, the fact that this young girl's life and future was at her hands and in her complete control, caused some sort of guilt to wrap its gnarly, ebony vines around the insides of her throat, choking her up and restricting her breath. She swallowed, pushing those feelings back down and regaining her composed character.

The woman stood up, brushing off any dirt on her pants. Her face was stern again, as August had seen it that day in her dorm. The tall woman turned and began walking away.

"W-Wait," August stood to her feet, quickly brushing the dirt off her own backside.

The woman stopped, turning on her heels to look down at the girl who looked surprisingly shorter than she had ever seen her. She had never stood this close to her before, and she towered over her like a skyscraper.

"W-What's your name?" August quietly asked, suddenly becoming shy again at the monumental woman.

There was a short pause—one filled with just the two looking at each other. August looked at the tall woman who held her life in her hands, capable of taking it away at any moment; and the woman stared back down at her, at the girl who trembled in her sight and whom she had complete control of—the girl she should've just killed that day in the dorm but didn't for a reason she was still trying to figure out.

"Willow."

August just blinked, mentally placing the name to the woman's face. She was no longer the tall, mysterious woman who took a life. She was the tall, mysterious Willow who took a life.

Willow spoke with a low voice, "Don't lose my green lighter. It was my favorite." She turned again on her heels and began to walk away until she stopped and only turned her head over her shoulder, the shadow of her jawline darkening. "Oh, and don't forget that if you say a word to anyone about the events of last week, I will use the lighter to set you on fire and let you burn alive—slowly."

August froze, gulping as she stared at the woman who stared right back at her. There was no more playfulness or jokes or lightness or sharing of cigarettes or lighters. She was reminded again that Willow was dangerous and capable of anything.

As Willow turned, August caught sight of a word tattooed on the back of the woman's neck, but her dark hair covered it up before she could read it. She watched as Willow's boots carried her to the metal door, her tall and slender figure disappearing down the stairway.

Almost falling to her knees as she was left alone again, August sighed and rested her chin on her knee. She pulled her jacket tighter across her chest, wishing maybe it would squeeze back together her pieces that felt as if they were scattered and lost and rearranged inside of her, completely out of order.

Everything was so out of order.