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Tatum giggles. “Come on. We can go into the theater room and stuff our faces in there, with a bottle of tequila and some trashy romance movies.”
I follow her down the dark hallway, through her sitting room, and then through another door that leads down to the theater. “Your parents aren’t home?”
“Huh?” she asks, opening the door. “Oh, no, they left last night. I’m sure they’ll be home either tomorrow or on the weekend.” We walk into the room, Tatum hitting the lights until a dim hue settles over the triple row of large sofas. Each sofa is enough to sit two adults comfortably, and there are around ten of them in the theater. There’s a tiny bar tucked away in the corner with a popcorn machine and candy display, and then beside that is a large—no, scratch that—massive projector screen. Tatum walks to the bar, and I drop our food on a sofa, my bag onto the ground.
“Okay! Now I’m not good at cocktails, but we can just drink it straight. The end result is just the same.”
“Thanks for this, Tate. You’re a great friend.”
She pauses, handing me a glass and twisting the lid off, pouring some clear liquid into it. “You would do the same, Madison. It’s nothing.”
And I would. God knows I’d move heaven and hell for her if I had to. We sit down and my phone vibrates again. Peeling my burger cover off, I look down at the screen to see Bishop’s name flash across the phone. Exhaling, I take a large bite out of my burger, to the point where Tatum is looking at me with raised eyebrows.
“Hungry, or stressed?”
I shake my head. “He stresses me out,” I murmur around my burger.
“It’s not his fault, Madi.”
“No, I know it’s not, but I can’t talk to any of them right now.”
She nods, popping a chip into her mouth. “Totally understandable.” Shuffling back to the ginormous sofa, I kick my shoes off and finish the rest of my burger in silence.
“I found this book,” I say, starting on a donut.
“Oh? Kinky kind?”
I roll my eyes. “No, though I wish, because this one is kind of making me a little depressed.” I lean forward to grab it, when my phone lights up again, this time showing a text message.
Bishop – I’m sorry.
Ignoring him, I reach for the book and flash it at her. “See!” Then I flip it open. “It’s title-less, and Miss Winter wasn’t actually supposed to allow people to check it out of the library, because it’s some link in history. But after my third visit to the library, she must have felt sorry for me and let me take it.”
“Miss Winter is weird as fuck. I don’t understand that woman.”
“She’s not weird.”
“Give me a look.” Tatum waves for me to pass the book over.
“Tatum, wipe your hands!”
“Are you serious?” She pauses and then rolls her eyes, wiping her hands with a napkin. “Next thing I know you’ll be calling it your precious.”
I smile at her wit and then hand her the book. “So it’s about this woman, right? I’m only up to chapter 7—at least I think they’re chapters. It’s a very different book… but it’s intriguing. I’m still not sure what it’s about. I went into it blind, because it has no title, no blurb, none of that.”
Tatum takes a swig of her drink. “There’s no sex?”
“No.”
She hands it back. “Sounds boring.”
I snatch it back from her. “It is not boring. It’s fascinating.”
“So what is it? Like a memoir or something?”
I shake my head. “Apparently, it’s her suicide note.”
“In the form of a book?” Tatum squeals, taking a chocolate cream donut out of the bag. “How poetic.”
I flip the page open to where I was up to before falling asleep last night, and start reading out loud.
8.
Why?
“No, no, no, no, no…” I shook my head from left to right as another contraction rippled through my insides. “I don’t… I’m not ready. It’s too early.”
“It’s not too early, ma’am. You’re only two weeks early. That’s enough time for the baby to survive on its own.”
Leaning my head back on the cold, hard ground, I looked up to the stars. “It’s not time—”
“Enough, Katsia. It’s time. Do as you’re told and do it with class.”
I looked toward my husband. “Don’t you dare use that tone with me!”
“Woman! You are to do as you’re told, or so help me God, I will slap some sense into you!” he roared, launching at me. I didn’t flinch. My insides were tearing open, my stomach rippling with such pain it could put the fear of death into any man. I was ready for war. I didn’t know it at the time, but there was a reason why so many people were surrounding me. My husband’s right-hand man sat in the corner with his wife, who was cradling their newborn son, as well as the rest of the soldiers—as he called them—surrounded him.
