“Fuck,” I whisper into the darkness of my room, then sit my ass on the floor, because really, what else am I even supposed to do right now?
16. Nia
“Good morning, bitch!” Emma screeches through the other end of the line.
I frown, eyes still closed, and shift in my queen-sized bed. “Ugh. Why are you so chirpy this early in the morning?”
“Early?!” She sounds almost offended, which makes me smile a little. “It’s 10-fucking-a.m., Nia. TEN! Did you sleep upside down last night?”
“No, you weirdo, I just slept real late.” I huff and scratch the back of my thigh through my raised oversized t-shirt. “Noah let me take a few more days to myself before I can go back to the café, so I’m taking advantage of that. He said he didn’t want me looking like a heartbroken zombie while serving our gossip-hungry customers, so he wants me to figure my shit out before I can step into the shop again. Didn’t I tell you all of this on the phone yesterday, though?”
She clicks her tongue. “You did, but I forgot. Also, your brother is an asshole for keeping you away from work. I can’t imagine a better breakup remedy than snorting freshly pressed coffee beans up your nose. It’s quite literally the ultimate medicine.”
My chest tightens at her words, but I brush off the feeling before it can take over, because I can’t always be strong enough to deal with the pain that comes along with it. Sometimes I just need to be able to breathe without having to brace myself for an attack, or worse, a mental wound.
Most scars vanish over time, stop hurting as they age into our skin. Maybe mine would, too, despite them not being physical ones.
I rub my eyes. “My head hurts; let me go back to sleep.”
“Why the hell did you even receive my call if you didn’t wanna talk?”
“Because you kept calling insistently and I had no other choice but to answer you?”
Silence, and then… “I did?” she asks innocently, which makes me chuckle.
“You’re incorrigible,” I say.
She laughs, and then sneezes. “Sorry.”
“Bless you.” I yawn and straighten in bed, which results in my t-shirt to rise above my thighs. My eyes immediately go to the open window above the study table on the right, and sure enough, I find my neighbor’s son, Bob, ogling me with a hand inside his pants.
Fucking perv.
Trying to avoid any and every encounter with Cass has led me to confining myself in my house. It has also led to Bob getting a front-row view of me sleeping in every day, and despite being an annoying one, it isn’t the most important issue in my life.
Noah has given me my unquestioned space after the diner fiasco, which I honestly really appreciate. It wasn’t easy reliving each and every one of Amanda’s words and trying to put ample meaning to them, but I’ve spent hours upon hours on them anyway. At one point, I even considered the possibility of Cass being the one behind this. That maybe he was done with me, and because he couldn’t ditch meagain, he’d asked his manager to do the job for him. And, Amanda being Amanda, she’d kicked things up a notch by not only delivering his message, but to also shaming me in the process.
It makes no sense, obviously, and I don’t know why I’m scared of confronting Cass about this. Instead of talking to him, I’ve been ignoring his calls and messages. I know that whatever Amanda said to me atMama Peña’s Dinerwas all her. I just know it. Her words, her expressions, and her general disdain towards me – that’s allher, not Cass. And yet, I just can’t bring myself to speak to him, even though I want nothing more than to touch him, hold him, and kiss him again.
My stubbornness is stupid and uncalled for, but I do need time to myself so that I can…process everything, in a way.
Cass has fired Amanda. He’d texted me as much a little over a week ago. I’m not sure if it was right for me to feel satisfied after having read that message, but I don’t care. I don’t know her well, but I know she isn’t someone Cass needs, professionally or otherwise.
“That creep is staring at me again,” I tell Emma in order to get rid of the thoughts in my head, and curse when Bob starts jerking himself harder when our eyes meet. That bald and bearded caveman-looking asshole has no fucking shame.
“Ewww.” Emma gags through the line. “Please tell me you’re going to at least show him the finger, if not report him to the authorities.”
“He’s harmless, Em.”
“Fornow.”
I sigh. “His dad’s a decent guy; a family friend. And that puts me under an obligation of sorts.”
“An obligation of letting his middle-aged son jerk off to you?” Emma questions incredulously.
I rise, press my phone between my ear and shoulder, and tie my hair into an overhead bun before walking towards the window. “I don’t know what else you want me to say to you.”
“I want you to tell me why you don’t show him the finger,” she pushes.
