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The guys don’t know how long the explosive device was in the car, but it was just a matter of time before I drove it, and the big rig got me. They could have attacked me on my way to the club that morning, but instead waited for me to leave. Then they made the mistake of thinking I was driving when it was Stacey.
Who died instead of me. This ties my stomach into unrelenting knots every time I think about it, and doubly so since I’m now looking at the unremarkable remnants of her life. She didn’t even see the truck coming, if she were indeed waving at Evie in the rearview mirror when she was hit.
The guys wouldn’t tell me any more than that, except that the truck driver ‘got what he had coming to him’ as they said. And I don’t really need to know more than that.
I slowly finger Stacey’s belongings, showing them the respect she deserved but never got. I lay her things in neat piles on the makeup table and pull out the fake fur jacket she loved so much. I pull it on and twirl in front of the mirror. It smells like her and for a second I even look like her. I pop my hands in the pockets just like she used to when she came bouncing in, and I find a lipstick in one and what feels like money in the other. I pull it out and see it’s the two hundred dollar bills I gave her.
This is when the lump in my throat is too much to bear. I sink into a cracked plastic chair and let big, fat tears run down my cheeks while I fold and unfold the money I’d meant to help her. I want to think it would have eventually been put to good use, and that she hadn’t needed it just yet.
Another way life cheated this woman.
And then, the dressing room door flies open. It’s Dominika.
Of course.
The last person I want to see at this moment.
“You’re finally going through Stacey’s crap, are you?” she huffs, propping her ass on the end of the makeup table like we’re old girlfriends ready for a chat.
Since she’s finally accepted I’m going to be around for a while, she’s gotten nicer to me.
Somewhat.
She picks up a couple tubes of Stacey’s lipstick and opens them to check their colors. I want to snatch them from her hands. She has no right to be touching Stacey’s things. She was never kind to her, not for a moment. She didn’t earn an entitlement to her memory. She was an affront to Stacey when she was alive. I won’t let her be now that Stacey is… dead.
How I hate that word.
She tosses the lipstick back on the makeup table like they’re trash. “You know, don’t waste your time with this stuff. Just throw it all away.”
Oh no. That was the wrong thing to say to me.
I rise to my feet, still wearing Stacey’s fake fur coat. Dominika looks me up and down with amusement, like I’m a kid playing dress up.
C’mon, I am dying to say to her.Make one more shitty remark. C’mon. Do it. I stretch to my full height but am still dwarfed by Dominika thanks to her giant platform boots. It doesn’t matter though, because my anger fills the room in a way I can’t. As if she can sense that, she finally shuts her big mouth. For the most part.
She gets to her feet, gesturing at the things spread out over the table. “Suit yourself. There’s nothing there of value,” she scoffs.
“How would you know?” I say in a low, growly voice.
I surprise us both. But I don’t care. It feels good to let loose some of my fury on this hideous excuse for a human being.
Unbothered, she shrugs me off. “Stacey didn’t have a pot to pee in. Of course, everything she left behind is junk,” she sniffs
I take a step closer to Dominika, closer than I really want to be to her. “You wouldn’t know if she had anything important, because you don’t know whatisimportant,” I spit.
Her right eyebrow lifts and she chuckles at me with just as much disdain as she held for Stacey. “Okay. Okay, tough guy. Put me in my place, why don’t you?” she taunts.
“Look, bitch,” I say, inching closer. “I don’t care if you’re related to Niko. I don’t care if you’re related to the King of England. If you don’t stay away from me with your nasty comments and ugly attitude, I will make sure you’re as dead as Stacey.”
Holy shit. I did it. I told the bitch off.
For a moment, her eyes grow wide. But she’ll never let me get the better of her, so naturally has the last word. “Whatever. Whatever you say, Charleigh.”
She saunters away like she’s not bothered. But there’s no way she missed the vitriol in my voice.
When she’s gone, the room seems to refill with air and I take a deep breath. While I hope my standing up to her will keep her out of my hair for a while, I am also empowered. It feels good not to be afraid of her, to know I can call her out when I need to.
And I’m no longer afraid she’ll find out I was the one who found her photos, the ones where she scratched out Mrs. Alekseev. In fact, I pull open her locker door. No big surprise, the box labelledphotosis gone.
