Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I’m just saying, you have to call Clint back.”

Emily shook her head as she smirked at Haley’s pixelated face on her phone screen, which was propped on the greyish tiles behind the stove. It was her night off at the Saloon tonight, and she decided to cook a proper meal for herself.
“Yeah, but he’s so weird. And didn’t Penny say he was being a bit-”

“Ugh, don’t listen to her. All she does is chat shit to make herself actually interesting.”

“True.” She absent-mindedly stirred the tomato soup in the saucepan, which was slowly teetering off the centre of the ring.
“But I don’t even like him like that anyway.”

Haley wasn’t one to ignore any kind of male attention, even if the guy had no interest in her; if one so much as looked at her, she took it as a sign. In fact, she was sleeping over at Alex’s that night, even though he was clearly NOT into girls’ attention.

“So? You don’t have to, you just need to get experience!”

Emily laughed incredulously. “What? Why would I go out with someone if I didn’t even like them? That’s so horrible.”

“How? I’ve been with half the guys in my online photography class. You don’t have to marry him, just, you know, the bit before that.”

“And break his heart when I break up with him?” Emily was waving the spoon about now as she struggled to get her words out through giggles, knocking the pot further towards the counter edge.

“Well, not exactly, but who cares anyway?”

“Oh my god you are such a slag!”

Both girls exploded with laughter, Emily pulling away from the stove as she folded up in hysterics. She still held the spoon and finally dragged the pot over the side of the counter.

An eruption of burnt orange, bubbling liquid splattered over her dark jeans. She lurched back in agony, as it seeped onto her skin. A few droplets flecked her pristine teal jumper, like specks of rusty blood.

“Oh FUCK! Ow, oh my god, shit, shit, shit-” Emily winced as she leaned round the corner of the cupboard to grab the kitchen roll. Haley was laughing even harder now.

“What is it, what did you do?”

“I spilled my fucking soup everywhere, fuck, what am I gonna eat?” Emily soaked most of it up off the floor with the towels.

“Oh, shit girl, are you ok, did it get on you?” Her laughter ceased.

“Yeah, it went all over me, and my new jumper, fucks sake. That’s never gonna come out. And I can’t be arsed to cook anything else.”

“Why don’t you just order something? Like curry or pizza?”

“I could go for a pizza to be fair. Like a meat feast.”

“Yeah, I’ll go now, so you can order it. Bye girl.”
“Ok, see you tomorrow.”

She hung up then scrolled down her contacts to her her favourite Zuzu City pizza takeaway, Slice City, leaving the sopping rolls and remnants of soup on the floor.

After placing her order, (asking for delivery since she felt lazy after the whole ordeal) she wandered into the living room and plopped on the sofa.

Just as she switched on the TV, the doorbell rang; she rolled her eyes and lumbered back towards the front door. It must be the parcel she’d ordered the other day.

She heaved open the door, and on the threshold stood a grinning old man, holding a pizza box with a cash bag round his shoulder.

“Hey Emily!” he smiled.

“Oh- hi, Clint, um, what are you er, doing here?”

“I got a job at Slice Central a few weeks ago and I’m on delivery duty tonight.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. The street was shrouded in darkness on the late November evening.

“Oh, right. Well, that was quick delivery huh?” she tried to sound easy and light, but her stomach had begun to churn.

He didn’t respond, only laughed softly. His smile dropped slightly.

“Well, can I take this? What do I owe you? 650g, is it? Here you can keep the change, little tip for the quick delivery.”
She took the box hurriedly and reached into her pocket for the cash, speaking quickly as she just wanted him to leave. How the hell did he get here so fast? And how weird was it that he showed up just as they were talking about him?

As she leaned to the side to reach the money, Clint looked down the hallway, spotting the towels on the floor. His eyes lit up.

“Hey, what happened there? You spilled something?”
Emily turned around, leaving a gap between her and the doorway. “Oh yeah, I got a bit distracted while I was cooking-”

He squeezed through the door and walked quickly down the hall into the kitchen.

“Let me help you clean it up! My shift’s finished now anyway.”

At 7 o clock on a Saturday? Didn’t he have geodes to break or something, too? Emily’s eyes widened as she followed him. The feeling was growing stronger in her gut; this wasn’t right.

“Quite a mess you made, huh?” Clint wasn’t particularly muscular like the other guys she knew, but at about 6’3” he was looming over her now. “Where do you keep your mop?”

“I didn’t get a chance to empty it, it’s just over-”
He grabbed it quickly and swirled the head round in the water, plopped it on the floor and began to swipe it round her feet, carelessly brushing her shoes with the now reddish water. She opened her phone, which was still opened on the Slice City contact.

Slice City. He’d said Central earlier.

Emily eyed the door, which was still left ajar. Clint now stood in her path to it.

“So... now I’m here, why don’t we share this Hawaiian?” he gestured to the box on the side. “You were gonna call me back after we filmed the Joja competition video, anyway, weren’t you?” His smile dropped.

“I-er,” She’d ordered a meat feast.

“Weren’t you?” he repeated, moving closer.

“Well, the truth is...” she heaved a sigh. Maybe if she just let him down gently, he’d be alright?

“I just don’t like you like that. We’ve known each other for as long as I can remember. I see you more like... an uncle rather than anything else. A good friend.”

She lifted her head as she looked at him, trying to firmly stand her ground despite the nausea that was spreading through her whole body.

Clint’s quietly calculated expression turned to furious disbelief; his mouth dropped, and he shook his head slowly. He flung the mop to the floor, knocking the bucket of water over; Emily jumped as the cold splashed across the tiles. Clint didn’t even move.

“Why are you all like this?”

“You all?”

“Women. You all fucking hate me.”

“What? I don’t hate you, I literally said-”

“Shut up. You’ve led me on from the start, you've always known that I’ve liked you. And why don’t you like me?” He ran his hand through his hair then smacked it on the counter, right next to the handle of the glinting knife on the chopping board.
“I’m a gentleman, wasn’t I respectful? Didn’t I bring you your food? Wasn’t I polite? I even fucking cleaned up your own mess for you!”

“I never asked you to do that,” Emily’s lip quivered as she fought to keep her voice steady. She flinched as he wacked the counter one more time.

“I’m sick of it, I’m so fucking sick of it, of you, of all of you, I’ll k-”

Ding dong!

There was a rap at the door, and a shadow fell over the glass panel.

“Hello? Pizza delivery! I’m in a bit of a rush tonight, guys, gotta quota to meet. Hello?”

Clint’s face instantly dropped. His eyes darted manically from the door to Emily.

She knew it. She knew it was coming. He must have been watching her somehow, the fucking creep, he knew she’d ordered it then turned up at her door, hoping for a free way to get inside. This had happened so many times before, to so many. The ending was always the same.

Clint’s expression darkened. “Alright. I’ll answer it, you stay here,” he whispered, “And not a fucking word..” He took one last loathing look at her. In that moment, she knew what she had to do.

Lurching forward, she grabbed the knife, reached up and sunk it deep into the side of his neck. She yanked it out again as she watched the blood sputter from the wound onto her top and snake in crimson streams down her arms. He tried to gasp for air but instead gurgled and swallowed more of his own blood before staggering forward. In the pools of reddish water that he’d spilled earlier, his foot slipped, and he tumbled forward. With a devastating blow, his head hit the cold floor next to the mop, moaning in desperate pain as his body crumpled in agony.

“Coming!” Emily shouted to the delivery guy, Sam, outside. She heaved Clint’s near lifeless body round the side of the kitchen, his arms dragging the pieces of sodden kitchen roll across the floor, before she unzipped his cash bag and removed the 650g.

Emily walked calmly to the door and opened it narrowly, careful not to reveal any of the hallway.

“Sorry about the wait, you can keep the change” she smiled and handed him the money, then leaned forward to grab the box.

“No problem, thanks.” Sam smiled. His cheeks flushed slightly, as he looked at her.

“Hey, I think I've seen you around, you work at the saloon, don’t you? My shift ends soon, maybe we could go out somewhere, I’ve got a discount at-”

“No thanks.” Emily didn’t smile.

“Oh. Er, alright then,” he looked down, embarrassed, then noticed her jumper.
The teal wool was now splattered with even more muddy red spots.
“Hey, er, everything ok? What happened there?”

Emily held her gaze and laughed softly.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I just spilled some soup.”