When I was 16 years old, I met my dad's business partner. A tall orca man that spoke like a gangster straight out of a crime drama. His daughter, despite this, was oddly precious (if not a little odd). While I was pulling pranks like adding hot sauce to the party punch bowl, the young Miss Blackwater was recording me with her phone and sending me stitched together compilations of reactions by the end of the night.
She was always on her phone, always filming things with it. Though she didn't say much herself, she hung on every mundane word I said as though it were the most interesting thing to ever be spoken. Perhaps it's because I was rebellious, and she was so far removed from anything even slightly contrary to her father's strict definitions of law and order.
We only ever met during company events, when my dad and her dad would get a bit too drunk and let us off the leash for the night. The first time we hung out, I remember having to bribe her out of her shell with candy out of my pocket.
"You want one?" I asked the pale girl in the shining red dress.
She tilted her head at me, then extended her hand expectantly. It made sense the beloved daughter of a multi-million dollar corporation was used to receiving candy. So I handed it to her, not expecting her to crack into it right away.
But, she did. She swayed in place and sucked on a peppermint I had kept in my vest pocket since last week's dinner. I was smitten. It was like finding an alien lifeform washed up on the banks. Deathly pale skin, bright red eyes, hair so dark one couldn't make out strands even in the light. Part of it was without a doubt the teenage hormones. Part of it was the way she looked at me, eyes just slightly too wide and that of a true apex.
"Come with me!" I extended my hand to her, but she didn't take it. Instead, she walked closer, then followed behind curiously. Intelligent eyes watched me, perhaps examining if I was edible like the candy in my pocket.
"Don't show fear around an apex. They'll pick up on it instantly," Dad had told me. "Orcas especially will eat anything, even great white sharks!"
My family were not sharks, not by any metric. Instead, as belugas, we sat somewhere socially above dolphins, but lower than even the most pathetic of sharks. We were more innately likeable, trustworthy, compared to most. That didn't stop Blackwater from killing his lifelong business partner over a petty dispute.
"Why are you crying?" She asked me at the funeral.
I didn't know how to respond at the time. I just stared at her with all of the confusion and resentment that had built over the past few days, since I had found out what had happened.
"You're free to do whatever you want now. Smile more."
As an 18 year old I wondered why she would say something so terrible to a grieving man. How could anyone smile when their dad was gone forever? Even if we had our disagreements, there is nothing I wouldn't have given up to have even just one more day with him.
When I took on Dad's projects, when I interfaced more with that family, I came to understand completely why she said what she did. I understood why that strange girl took candy from me the way she did. I came to understand that people in such positions of power are not people, but instead monsters dressed up like them.
So why, now, do I feel guilty when I see her on TV? One of my staff members shared with me today an interview where she said something about getting married to Ledger White. The whole situation was ridiculous. There's no universe in which that girl marries that asshole and escapes unscathed.
I kick myself, attempting to remind myself that she's a woman now. I can't get the image out of my head of the innocent girl taking sweets from me, and imagining what it must look like when Ledger poisons her.
We haven't talked in years, not since that day at the funeral. Yet, for some reason, I pick up the phone and text her.
Let's reconnect. It's been too long.
IDK if you remember me but I'm the white hair guy you used to film pranking ppl?
Ik your boyfriend too
I somewhat regret sending that last part, but it's important to set her up for the truth of the situation: Ledger is completely inhuman.
To my surprise, she agrees to meet. To my greater surprise, she wants to do so right now. My gut instinct is that the person I'm talking to is actually Ledger, but I attempt to brush it off. It's hard to know if you're being too paranoid or not when that fucker is involved.
In order to prevent potentially suspicious headlines, we arrange to meet in her office. I know the building well enough to get around, and given the fact that I work just across the street, it's a short trip up to her. I clock out early for the day, having nothing left to do other than busywork anyways.
When I make it to her office, and she buzzes me in, I'm startled by how much she has changed. It's one thing to see someone from a long time ago on a screen, but it's a whole different situation in person.
She's as beautiful as I remembered, though somehow less ethereal. What I remember as haunting red eyes that followed the slightest movement, have since become tired and fleeting. If life had been kinder, would she look at me the way she does now?
"Alexio," she smiles politely. It's a facade I've seen a million times. The corners of her eyes fail to wrinkle, such is the iconic half-smile flashed by the average corporate lackey. "Please, have a seat."
I follow her instructions and, upon drawing nearer, notice the puffiness in her eyes she has crudely covered with makeup. I won't bother prying about that. It's well known among higher ups in this industry that she has a mental breakdown at the end of each day. Given the proximity of WHITEOUT and Killer Media, the interns all gather at the same lunch spots and gossip about the wailing ghost of floor 14.
"It's been… such a long time. Years," she laughs, us both a glass of whiskey.
"Oh, I don't drink," I wave my hand at her. "But, thanks. Yeah, a real long time. I haven't seen you since Dad's funeral." I measure her expression, only to feel a pang of guilt when she frowns.
"Yeah. Sorry," she falters. "I'm sorry both about what happened and what I said. I was trying to… well, it sounds ridiculous, but I was trying to cheer up," she laughs.
I return her smile, mumbling an "it's okay". I entirely believe she was, at that moment all those years ago. Regardless, it's not the topic of today's discussion.
"I know this is coming kind of out of nowhere," I begin. "But I don't think you should marry Ledger White."