“What—right now you were talking to the Executioner?!” My friend’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes,” I answer in a hurry.
“Are you sick?! Do you even know what rumors people spread about him?”
“What rumors?” I look at her, worried.
***Once, we studied together at the same school. He was three years older, and while I was braiding pigtails for my dolls, he was hanging out at parties that people later whispered about—and on the beach afterward there were mountains of used condoms.
I haven’t seen him for years, but when I meet him again, I decide to ask for help, because I have nowhere else to turn. I didn’t suspect how much I would end up regretting this.