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I hold my intoxicated best friend to keep her pretty hair off of the sticky bar and watch as my other best friend enters the bathroom ok.
Am I the mom friend?
A flash of light catches my attention, Ari’s phone lit with a notification I don’t recognize, so I pick the thing up off the bar, hopeful that the Uber is coming sooner than anticipated.
“Son of a fucking bitch.”
“Wha?” Aurora slurs into my collarbone, but leans into me, not away to see anything.
I read and reread the notification with heat bubbling under my skin. My scalp feels tight against my skull as the words in the text message I open register.
Then a photo populates in the thread and the red-hot rage from earlier ascends on me again.
My hands shake with unbridled anger as I catch sight of Aria leaving the bathroom and heading back our way. I react, deleting the messages and the picture. Open the Uber app and refresh the page as if I’d been checking the status all along.
“Is it on its way?” I flash her the screen, void of any communication from a douche, and hike Aurora up to start the trek to the sidewalk.
“Not yet, but she could prob use some air before getting in a car.” Voice calmer than I feel, I push the emotion down and begin plotting in my head as Ari grabs Aurora’s other side and helps me get her to the curb.
“Good call.”
21
CEDAR
We make it to the hotel room we were planning on staying in tonight without much fuss.
I tuck Aurora into bed with seething hands I force to still, her sister falling in beside her. Makeup still intact, Ari collapses on the bed they’re sharing, her hair flying around her head and closing her off from the world.
And when I’m certain they’re both out, I snag Ari’s phone again to check for any messages I missed.
No others sit unopened on the screen.
I place it back on the nightstand in the center of the double room, charger engaged, and plop my burning ass into the only chair present. It squeaks with wear as I fumble to get the old remote to turn the tv on for suitable background noise.
News channels fill the silence of the room, which only fill me with more rage, so I hurriedly switch to some sappy romcom that’s almost always on in every hotel room I’ve ever been in. I try to calm my nerves, soothe my anger and frustration, to think through the shit logically. The chair creaks when I shift to ease my racing heart. I blow a breath out that does nothing to bring me down so I stand and find my feet carrying me to the door.
Guiding the door closed behind me so that it doesn’t wake the girls, I strut down the hallway, a metaphorical bat twirling in my hands.
That mother fucker messed with the wrong girl. Broke the wrong heart.
Names don’t matter. Bands don’t matter. Fame don’t matter.
I punch the elevator call button with aching knuckles and step back to wait the short ride out until I can get out to a taxi.
“Hey,” A rando passes me with the greeting as I stride for the exit, but I don’t have time for them. They get a head nod response and I keep it walking.
Songs fill the void in my head as I envision all the versions of how I’m about to deal with this asshole. Most angry and violent. Only some methods verging on petty.
Like leaving a heel print in his balls.
That’s not petty at all. That’s psycho shit.
Can relate …
I smile, hail a cab, and settle into the first one that pulls to my side of the street.
The drive is a blur, getting to the front door is a little harder, but I manage to bypass security with more ease than I’d anticipated.
