Page 11
“I did not. I said she has a past.”
Zarya, as sweet as she can be, is also a bit volatile. My sister has a penchant for making things go up in smoke. Literally. Smoke. Fire.
Is it entertaining? At times, very much so.
Is it practical? No.
Do I enjoy watching the chaos? Absolutely.
“Yeah. A past. As a slut,” Litza whispers under her breath and lets out another cackle. Grabbing her glass of wine, I drag it out of reach.
“Both of you, shut the fuck up. We’re going to have some more wine, watch some crappy, feel-good movies, and have fun. Gerald will assist,” Zarya says, bringing two bottles of wine up to frame her face.
“Right,” Litza says, fisting her own bottle of wine.
Picking up Gerald from the bowl, I let out a light laugh at how swollen his belly is and follow the others into the living room.
The girls pause the movie to make margaritas. Limes fly through the air as a fight breaks out between them. Shouts and squeals from the kitchen reach my ears as a slice of lime lands in the middle of my carpet.
Looking at my phone to check the time, I see a text from an unknown number. A photo of my last display flashes across the screen. I hone on the changes. My eye begins to twitch. The image begins to turn fuzzy.
Jumping to my feet, I fight to focus my vision. My hand reverberates with the rage coursing within me. The only thing I register is the sound of blood rushing through my skull, when Zarya plucks the phone from my hand.
“You’ve outdone yourself. The last one was beautiful, but this…you’re magnificent. Look how the layers of the petals are overlapping just right, each one almost perfectly symmetrical but touched with natural flaws…” she says as she trails her fingers along the screen. “I didn’t know you were taking photos now.”
I try to snatch the phone from her greedy clutches but fail.
“I’m not.” Red clouds my vision. “I don’t know who sent it to me.” Breathing becomes nearly impossible as I pace the length of the room. Who the fuck would be following me? The cops maybe. Nah, they’re too incompetent. They also wouldn’t take boudoir photos of my display.
The only thing off about today was Mr. Blue Eyes. I would have remembered seeing those eyes if he had been the one following me.
Balling my hands into fists, I attempt to relieve some of the pressure behind my eyes. Unable to control the rage any longer, I grip the sides of the vase and lift it over my head, when Zarya comes and raises her hands in surrender.
“P, calm down. Let’s go through the exercises,” she says, using her arms to display the intake of breath.
“FUCK THE EXERCISES!” As I swing my arm back to throw the vase, it’s ripped from my fingers. No glorious sound. No mediative moment of peace. These bitches! I turn to see Elitza holding the vase with her signature deadpan stare.
“You really need to do the exercises,” she says flatly.
I take a few steps toward the fireplace. She sets the vase on the mantle and faces me.
“Fuck. The. Exercises. They don’t work,” I say through gritted teeth.
Elitza walks around me and stands beside Zarya. She peers over her shoulder at the photos on the screen.
“Did you recognize anyone following you or anything?”
I shake my head. There hasn’t been anything out of the ordinary. Except the piece of shit who decided to bid on the manuscript.
“Honestly, I don’t know.” Sighing, I throw myself into the worn cushions of the couch.
“Do you think it’s him?” Litza suggests.
I don’t need her to explain more. We all know who he is. The whole reason why we moved here in the first place.
“No. It’s not his style. Besides, look at the photo. No marble.”
They both nod, then share a conspiratorial look. My hands ball into fists. It’s obnoxious when they leave me out of a conversation.
