She’s drenched in it; she’s made of it.
Until all that’s left of her is her name.
Cignette.
Cignette…
Cignette.
Cig–
I gasp and sit up in bed. I’m shaking, sweating. My heart is racing so fast that I can actually hear each and every one of its beats.
I throw my blanket aside and touch my waist, and then my legs.
I’m fine, I think to myself.I’m fucking fine. It was just a nightmare.
I run both my hands over my face and push my trembling fingers into my damp hair. “Fuck,” I all but exhale the word. “Fuck.”
Fleeting sunlight shines through my curtained balcony slider, and I can hear the occasional chirps of the sparrows, along with the distant chatter of the guards below.
I’m about to lie down again so that I can close my eyes and work on calming my still-wired nerves, but turn when I hear a knock on my door. An almost authoritative and too-loud knock.
I glance at my bedside clock.
7:49a.m.
I swallow and let go of a jaded sigh, because I know damn well who’s on the other side of the fucking door.
13.
Ipull my tangled hair up in a bun, then reluctantly get to my feet. I stretch my legs a little, because God, they feel stiff asfuckright now.
She knocks on my bedroom door again, but this time, it comes across more as banging than actual knocking.
It’s a little hard to decipher her motive and level of anger from this banging/knocking – because really, she only ever comes to me when she’s pissed.
I admit that I’m less than willing to learn the reason behind her being here, but I’m also not in the mood to witness a tantrum from her if I do, in fact, ignore her right now and go back to bed.
My mother has never made it easy for me to come to concrete decisions without feeling guilty or partially unsure about them. And that, right there, is a talent – one she possesses in spades.
I reach my bedroom door, let go of a breath, and reluctantly wrap my fingers around the ice-cold doorknob. I swallow, and then finally open the door.
It happens so fast that it takes me a few seconds to realize it, and by the time I do, I’m on the floor, with my legs folded behind me, and my forearms pressed on the carpet under me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the sting of her slap registers itself first, and covers the entire left side of my face. It’s followed quickly by a wave of acute pain that starts at my left temple, and continues all the way to the back of my head.
“Youcunt,” my mother all but spits the words at me. “Did you really think you could overshadow me?Me?!”
I’m so disoriented that I can’t even look at her, let alone grasp the meaning behind what she’s just said. So, when she kicks me in the stomach and the breath is quite literally knocked out of me, my body weakly rolls a few paces away from hers.
“Did you suck Julian’s cock in order to have him make you a dress that’s better than mine?” she asks. “Was this your plan, then – to humiliate me at the charity ball by out-staging me in front ofmyguests and investors?”
I try to cough, but end up wheezing instead. My mouth, and the back of my throat, feel cold and dry, and every breath I take results in pinprick-like pain to shoot through my sides.
Julian had emailed me a digital copy of the sketch he’d made of my dress last night. As expected, it was absolutely gorgeous, and according to him, his team was confident that they’d have it sewed and perfected by Friday evening.
The dress doesn’t even exist as of now, to be practical, so I don’t know why my mother is behaving like this.
