Before I can answer, she flings it.
Red paint hits me square in the chest, cold and thick, splattering across my coat, my scarf, my hair.I gasp, stumble back, catch myself on the railing.
“What the hell?”
“You think you can steal my husband and play innocent?”she screams.“You think nobody talks in this town?I know what you are.”
I freeze, paint dripping down my front like blood.“You need to leave.”
“Or what?You’ll call him?”she sneers.“He won’t come.”
Anger surges through the shock.“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“I know enough.”Her eyes glint, hard and hollow.“You’re a home wrecker.A Christmas whore.”
The words hit like a slap.My fists clench.“You’re one to talk.Weren’t you caught fucking Santa Claus?”
“You’re gonna be dead next time we meet.”Trina laughs, sharp and ugly, then drops the bucket and runs.
I follow her to the edge of the sidewalk, breath clouding in the cold, watching her disappear into the trees behind the building.That’s when I see it, red letters scrawled across the side of my apartment in dripping strokes.
WHORE
The paint glistens against the brick, bright and obscene.My neighbors are already starting to peek through their windows.A curtain twitches.Someone steps out and whispers my name.
Humiliation burns hotter than the cold ever could.I turn, stomp back inside, strip off my ruined coat, and march straight to the bathroom.The mirror doesn’t soften it.My reflection looks like a crime scene.
Good thing Blake’s gone visiting family.
Half an hour later, I’m at the police station.
The receptionist blinks when she sees me.Probably at the faint traces of red still clinging to my hairline.“Ma’am, are you hurt?”
“No.I need to report an assault.”
They sit me down in a small room that smells like burnt coffee and printer ink.A young officer with too much gel in his hair clicks his pen and says, “Tell me what happened.”
So, I do.The paint.The shouting.The writing on the wall.The deadly threat.
“And you’re sure it was Trina Winter?”
“Yes.”
“She’s married to…?”
“Humbug Winter,” I blurt out.
The officer’s eyes flick up.“You’re acquainted with Jack Winter?”
“Humbug?”
Here it comes.
“I know him,” I say carefully.Or did I?I didn’t even know his name is Jack.
“In what capacity?”
“He’s… a friend,” I try.
