There was no warning. Which was either good timing on her part, or a terrible disaster. Her hand snaked out from the warm comfort of her covers to confirm which it was. Knowing her luck, it was the latter.

It wasn't enough for her to be laid off the day shift, losing the weekend position to some relative of the store's owner. No, her studies had ensured only four hours of sleep. So why not also be late for her remaining shift? Not like there was anything there worth doing.

Except there was. It ensured her continued livelihood and capacity to pay back the academic loans there.

Vella groaned and gave up her search on the bedside table. Instead she tried the floor and sure enough her finger brushed the cool metallic back of her quarry. Picking it up she brought it around to her face, about a fist away from her eyes. She squinted at the unexpected brightness and for focus.

Seven-fourteen. She needed to be at work in sixteen minutes. The subway would take at least twenty.

“Fuck...” was all she could muster.

‘You either swim against the current or let it drag you down’ rang her mother's mantra of choice. Some things were just necessary and no amount of discomfort should stop you. Vella could only agree begrudgingly.

Speaking of the devil, the door to her room bursted open, the lights came on, and sounds of fury rushed in like a hurricane. It was a natural disaster who's sole purpose was to throw whatever was in reach at Vella.

All she had was a pillow and a thin layer of blanket between her and the shrieking banshee. The words may actually be coherent to a bystander, but to Vella, all creative insults, guilt-trips, and never ending threats were the same. It was just noise. Noise to tolerate but not ignorable. Noise that she should not put too much stock in, yet the toxins seeped in unbidden.

The faint vibrating hum of her computer returned with her mother's departure. The heavy scent of alcohol lingered in the air. The loudest sound, her breathing. Long, shuddering breaths.

Moments later, she emerged from her cocoon, her gaze taking in the mess she was left to clean up; nothing but the prelude to the current she had to swim against.

And so she swam.

Another ten minutes saw Vella at the subway station.

She didn't call in to work. She didn't need to explain her tardiness. The store owner didn't really care, thankfully. However, Vella was sure her pay had gotten just that little bit lighter.

It gnawed at her all through her shift. By the end of it, she was convinced that while she may be able to just barely make it through until the next pay check arrives, her mother would likely throw in a wrench with her predictable bouts of sporadic spending.

She hated doing this but it looked like she had to visit Daryl for... overtime.

Unlike the store owner, Vella had called ahead for Daryl. She needed to know if there was a job first before investing her money in transporting herself there. It turned out, there was one, as luck would have it. There was a rush job that's double the usual. It had to be done half an hour ago, so her calling in probably saved Daryl some trouble.

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It was strange that a delivery would need to be made this early at night. Usually they happen a few hours after midnight. This suited Vella perfectly. Higher pay and she could actually get home soon enough to catch some sleep? A rare smile graced her lips. This will undoubtedly keep her afloat for the next two to three months.

This.

This was what she craved for. Getting out from under all the shit that was her life. A sense of progression, even if it was just money. It was just until she could secure an actual job if- when her studies pay off, or so she told herself.

She wondered why she didn't just become a courier like this for a living. And just like every time she thought of such stupidity, she harshly reminded herself the dangers of going past the point of no return. Getting mixed up on that side of the law was too risky.

With locations confirmed and a reasonable amount of compensation agreed upon, Vella set off.

It was near midnight when she made it to the car park. Counting the bushes on the side, she walked over to the area where the package was supposed to be. No matter how many times she had done this, she never shook the cold and twitching feeling from her legs. Her eyes never seemed to be able to focus on where she was going either, locking on to every suspicious corner.

Upon reaching the designated bush, she had to really pry at the leaves and twigs to get at the small, bulked up envelope sequestered away inside. A minute of quiet, yet frantic, scrambling and she had acquired the package. She shoved it into her pocket.

Vella had no idea what it was she had to deliver, nor who she would be giving it to. She knew it probably wasn't anything legal, yet she didn't particularly care. At least she wasn't smuggling people.

Good thing she wasn't too involved with anyone in this business. Not enough to make an impression, nor piss anyone off. Just how she liked it.

Daryl and whatever organisation he worked for saw her as a nobody, or as they put it, an “anybody”, which made her hard to track. Using people like her helps them keep out of sight of those on the right side of the law.

It didn't make the subway ride to rendezvous with the client any less nerve racking. She knew it was just her imagination, but it felt like what few passengers there were all took turns sneaking knowing glances at her.

She spent the ride fiddling with her phone, swiping through social media and the current trends of the world with her thumb. She cut her act short when she arrived at her stop.

Finding the meeting point was always a hassle since this kind of job often took her to places she'd never even go near otherwise.

True to cliché, she ended up in a shady gap between two office buildings. Not a minute later a middle aged woman walked in. She had an expensive looking ensemble of jewellery and clothes. Nothing but top brands. Her very scent was expensive.

“You the full package?” she asked, not a hint of discomfort at the situation.

“Too expensive for you,” Vella replied with the ironic confirmation phrase.

The woman wordlessly handed Vella a package of her own and Vella herself took the wrinkled envelope out from her pocket.

With the exchange concluded, Vella was about to leave when the woman barred her path.

“Is there a problem?” Vella asked, hoping to sound intimidating.

“Yes, actually,” the woman replied, “I know you're listening in Daryl.”

Confused, but already on edge, Vella's legs tensed, ready to burst past the woman if there was going to be any trouble. “What're you on about? No one's listening in. I'm just a nobody making a-”

All of Vella's attention suddenly tunnelled when the woman brought out a gun from her handbag.

Easily portable and concealable. It was a small thing, Vella noted, yet it was a gun nonetheless.

A gun.

There was a pregnant pause. One that permeated the air, ever expanding, ever oppressing. It stretched, long enough for Vella to actually notice the tremor in the woman's hands.

Realisation became action as she rushed the woman, reaching desperately for the gun in her hand.

The gunshot was loud, and in her shock Vella couldn't tell if she reached the woman first or if the gunshot rang first. It didn't matter, she couldn't feel anything hurting, so she carried the woman into the ground with her momentum.

She slammed the woman's hand against the concrete floor, hoping that the pain and shock would dislodge her grip, but she simply didn't have enough strength. Lacking both weight, skill and a whole lot of sleep, Vella was quickly thrown off tumbling to the side.

Before she could recover, a second gunshot rang out that night.