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I’m frozen, completely paralytic.
I can’t believe she’s dousing me, my mom’s nightgown, in red wine.
When the bottle is empty, she cocks her head to the side. “I wish I could help myself but I’m kind of clumsy. And looks like I’m out of wine too.”
I can’t say anything. Not yet.
Not when I can feel the thick droplets of wine sluicing down my chest.
“I’d say sorry about that.” Ashley motions to the red stain that’s slowly seeping into the fabric. “But I think it gives you good color. I don’t think blue’s your thing at all.”
To prove her point, she looks at my hair. It’s loose and falling down my back like my mom’s used to when she was alive and she’d come into my room to tuck me in for the night.
“Yeah, blue’s not your color.”
I breathe deep but all it does is move my chest, making the droplets slide down faster. The nightie is stuck to my skin, heavy and clammy, and my heart’s gaining speed. It’s pounding like it’s insane.
She turns around and sets the wine bottle on the island. “Maybe try something else for a change. Like, I don’t know, going back to your normal hair color and eating less. And yeah, wearing something that’s not so very eighties.”
That’s it.
That’s the final straw.
A growl rises up in my throat and I take a step toward her. I see a flash of her eyes widening before a voice booms in the room.
“What the fuck is going on?”
His voice.
It’s rough and invades the air around us.
I whip my eyes over to where he’s standing at the threshold. As soon as our gazes clash, he moves toward me.
In the background, I can hear rustles and more movements. Footsteps. I guess we woke up the on-call staff. But I don’t care about that. And neither do I care about the fact that Ashley skips over to him and winds her talon-like hands around his bicep.
“What the hell’s happening?” he asks again with a deep frown.
I raise my chin. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?”
Ashley goes to say something but Zach throws her a look and her mouth closes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Ashley pouts. “I swear your house is so fucking confusing. I got lost.”
“It helps if you’re sober,” Zach says, seriously. Angrily, even.
But she chuckles like a moron, or rather like a drunk moron.
Seriously, how cliché can you get?
“And then.” She turns to me, looking at the red stain on my nightie. “Then, I found her.”
Zach focuses on me, his eyes roving over my face. “Are you okay?”
It’s a simple question but I can’t seem to answer. I stand there, staring at him like I’ve forgotten all the words.
Maybe because his voice had turned intimate and low when he asked the question. Or it could be because this is the second time he’s asked me that. This surreal question. Like he cares what happens to me.
Before I can gather my wits, Ashley begins talking and she tells him how disrespectful I’ve been toward her, and that I should be fired for insubordination.
