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“It’s morning,” I said evenly. “Technically it’s not dark.”
“It’s pouring outside and there’s no light in here, so yes, Einstein, it is dark. I can barely see you.” She pulled on the cord of the dancing hula girl lamp she’d gotten at the thrift. “Why are you all huddled up over there?”
Even without looking at Carly, I knew she’d slapped her han
ds on her hips. She wore her bossiness well. “I didn’t want to miss one step of your walk of shame.” I dropped my leg while she sputtered. “And I’m not huddling. I was…doing yoga.”
“Yeah. Okay. And I’m going to start fighting.”
Shaking the pins and needles out of my foot, I glared in Carly’s direction. “Excuse me?”
“Kidding, Ame. Jesus. Do you really think I want to look all busted up like you used to?”
That was probably an insult. I didn’t take it as one, though, because I’d worn those marks and scars as badges of pride. I was a fighter. A survivor. Not a victim.
Never a victim.
“Next time, try to be funny, okay?” I asked, rubbing the heels of my hands over my cheeks just in case I’d sprung a leak. They were dry, thank God. Sometimes tears escaped when I didn’t expect them to, and in the mood I was in, anything was possible.
Carly finished toeing off her sneaker and sent it flying. Her aim must’ve been off, because it bounced off the plant and landed sole down on the arm of the couch. “I thought the lack of sibling interference last night meant you were getting some. Sure doesn’t sound like it from that eau du bitchy wafting from your ass.”
“My ass is freshly showered, thank you very much. And I resent your implication that if I’m being ‘bitchy’, it’s because I haven’t gotten sex. I’ll have you know that I get plenty, and it hasn’t improved my mood one bit.”
Somehow that had sounded better in my head.
“Speaking of sex,” I cleared my throat, “I’m assuming that’s what kept you out all night?”
Off went the other shoe. This one ended up on its side next to the coffee table. At least it was next to it and not on top of it. “It sure as hell wasn’t doing crossword puzzles.” She flopped down on the chair opposite me. “Where’s Tray?”
“He left.”
“This early?”
I jerked a shoulder.
“It’s raining. He never gets up early on rainy days. Did he hit the gym?”
“Dunno.”
“Did he have work? I didn’t see it on his schedule.”
That was the last nail in my metaphorical mental coffin. My sweet boyfriend who’d even tacked up a schedule on the fridge to let us know when he would be at which job hadn’t even bothered to kiss me goodbye. He’d spackled the walls and gone off to places unknown while I imagined all kinds of horrible things.
Worst of all, he knew that I disasterized everything. It was just my nature—or it had been for the last eight years. Usually he was so careful to allay my fears. But today, he’d just walked.
Deserving that kind of treatment didn’t make it hurt any less.
“I don’t fucking know where he is, okay? He left. He’s an adult and can come and go as he pleases. Just like you can.” Oh boy, I was on a roll now. A bad one. “You know, while we’re at it, don’t worry about sending your sister a text to let her know you’re not lying dead in a gutter somewhere next time. You’ve found someone to screw you so screw me, right?”
She reared across the table so fast that I didn’t have time to block her slap. Her palm hit my face with such force that my head snapped back against the wall, bringing a clarifying rush of pain to my skull.
My muddied thoughts cleared, washed away by the incessant throb at the base of my brain. Rather than checking to see if I’d ripped open a hole in my head, I turned to check out the wall. I didn’t want Tray to need to use more of his spackle.
If he came back.
Ignoring the twist in my chest, I faced my sister without cupping my cheek. She was breathing hard, and if I knew her as well as I thought, probably scandalized at what she’d done. Only one of us was bloodthirsty by nature, and it certainly wasn’t my happy-go-lucky, chef-in-training baby sis. “I like pain,” I said simply. “You would’ve hurt me more if you made me watch a Disney movie.”
“Got it.” She slumped back in her chair. “Next time I want to kick your ass, I should break out Mulan.”
