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While I’m busing wondering what the hell this guy is doing to me, he moves around me, his chest brushing against my arm as he goes, and a burst of warmth spreads through my body remembering how it felt when he was holding me in his arms.
Stop it right now, Ariel. Get your head in the fucking game!
I watch as Eric gingerly moves a tea service aside on my small kitchen table, grabbing something and turning to face me. I let out a groan, knowing exactly what he’s going to think that thing is.
“Is this important? A really, really important antique?” he asks, stressing the word as the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.
“I don’t know, is your dick an antique?” I reply petulantly, taking a step towards him and lunging for the Hitachi Magic Wand.
He jerks it out of my reach and shakes his head at me.
“That was the worst burn ever.”
“Shut up! I’m stressed! And for your information, that is indeed an antique. It’s from the sixties, and it’s a back massager, you pervert,” I argue as I watch him take the damn phallic-shaped object over to the kitchen counter and plug it in.
He slides the button in the middle of the plastic handle up and within seconds, the stupid thing is roaring to life, the vibrations making his hand shake, and buzzing so loudly I’m pretty sure people two counties over can hear it.
“Jesus Christ, do you even have a clit anymore or did it melt off?” he mutters, staring down at the Magic Wand in horror.
Marching over to him, I grab the cord and yank it from the wall, silencing the massager as I snatch it out of his hand. I smack it back down on the kitchen table.
I hear Cindy shout from the front door that they’re back with the boxes, and just like that, my chest starts to physically ache, remembering what I have to do. I hurriedly walk out of the kitchen, leaving Eric and his stupid powers of making me momentarily forget my problems.
Chapter 4: NOOOOOOOOOOO, My Precious!
“Just go ahead and put the boxes out in my car.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe we should ask her.”
“Ariel, can you hear us? Blink once for yes or give us the finger for no.”
“German scientists say a traumatic experience can be fatal. It causes the body to produce large amounts of stress hormones, including adrenaline, which narrows the main arteries that supply blood to the heart. This paralyses the heart’s main pumping chamber, causing a sudden change in rhythm similar to a heart attack.”
“For fuck’s sake, Belle, you’re not helping!”
“Maybe we should splash some cold water on her face.”
“Do you have a death wish? If you get her hair wet she will stab you in the throat.”
“She’s going to murder all of us, slowly, one-by-one if she’s not on board with this plan.”
Somewhere, in the far-off distance, I can hear people talking, but their voices are muffled, and I honestly don’t give a shit what they’re saying. People who’ve had near-death experiences always talk about this feeling of floating above your body, watching and listening to what’s going on but unable to do anything about it. I feel like that right now. Like for the last hour or so I’ve been hovering over my body, watching my friends pack up my clothes and shoes and anything they deem important enough to shove into boxes as fast as possible in the small amount of time they have before we’re dragged out of here by Barney Fife and his bumbling squad of idiot deputies. I know I should have helped them, but as soon as I saw PJ grab a laundry basket of clean clothes that was sitting on the floor in my living room and upend it into an empty box, I shut down.
My knees gave out and I collapsed onto the couch, staring blindly at one of the three antique curio cabinets against the far wall, which is filled with more than forty sets of vintage salt-and-pepper shakers, and doing what I did best: Ignoring my problems in the hopes that they’d go away all on their own.
“Ariel, sweetie, we’re finished. Do you want to take a quick look around and make sure we got everything you’ll need for right now?” Cindy asks softly, her body moving into my line of sight and blocking my view of my shakers.
She squats down in front of me, and my eyes move to her hand as it rests on my knee.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Belle come across the room and take a seat next to me on the couch, wrapping her arm around my waist and giving it a comforting squeeze.
Except it’s anything but comforting. It makes me want to scream.
