Anger thrums through me, liquid mercury solidifying in my veins, a sliver of something else too, doubt, diffidence,guilt.
I swallow hard, sweat blooming beneath my arms, my oversized sweatshirt making me feel suffocated, I want to tear it off, throw it away from me, march up to Imogen and give her a good slap.
I don’t believe her.
I don’t.
But somewhere deep down, her words hurt because Ido.
I worry about Billy, about his attention span, what if he gets bored with me, what if all of those things are true, what will he do when he finds out what I’m hiding? What if he really is sleeping with her. He didn’t exactly say he wasn’t, he alluded to it, but that’s not a no.
Billy Blackwell is a beautiful liar.
Blind rage rips through my head, threatening to tear my skull in two. Thinking of him fucking someone else, anyone else,her.
I feel the weight of the switchblade in my front hoodie pocket like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled. Think of the razorblade tucked into the side of my bra. How easy it would be to nick her throat with it, let her grab her neck in surprise, cover the bleeding, and as her lips part in shock, a gasp escaping her, I’ll ram it down her fucking throat and force her to swallow. Leaving her to bleed out all over the hall. Make sure nobody cleans it up, leave her there as an example.
Not a threat.
A Promise.
Don’t touch my fucking man.
“Imogen,” Delphine says quietly, awkwardly, clearly wanting to stop her but not having the confidence to, it tells me everything else I need to know about Imogen.
“Urgh,” Imogen sighs heavily, “you’re so boring, mouse, run along and-”
“I think that’s quite enough,” I say softly, despite my blood boiling.
I’m a very good liar, too, when I want to be.
Slowly, I set down my old worn book onto the seat beside me, placing my feet on the floor, I push up to stand, turning to face them both.
Delphine’s cheeks are glowing red, her eyes instantly dropping to look at the ground, her hands clasped before her, fingers squeezed tight.
She nods her head in greeting, a polite, “Lady,” in address, a word which makes me feel as uncomfortable as it does bring me pleasure in the moment.
“You may go, Delphine,” I say kindly, a soft expression on my face, she glances up, locking eyes with me, and turns away, disappearing behind a door that leads out into the main house.
When my dark eyes find Imogen’s blues, she doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. She looks thoroughly pissed off.
“You think I care that you heard what I said?” she asks cockily, a perfectly arched brow lifted on her forehead, arms crossed over her chest, hip popped out to the side.
I move around the bench seat, old, battered high-tops on my feet, tight black leggings and large black hoodie covering me up, a logo on it that’s so worn I can’t even remember what it used to be. There’s a frayed hole in one ribbed cuff, my thumb poked through it, black painted nail chipped. The whole look makes me feel inferior compared to her.
Even in her work uniform she looks flawless. Perfect everything. Shapely figure, shiny chestnut hair, bright eyes, clear skin. It’s enough to make anyone shrink around her, feel intimidated.
“No,” I reply calmly, circling the pad of my index finger over my thumb nail, “I know you don’t care.” I walk closer towards her, eradicating the too large distance between us, tucking one side of my hair behind my ear as I come to a stop mere feet away. “I think you just enjoy bragging about things that are untrue.”
She smiles sadistically at me, “You’re brainwashed already,” she laughs, a tinkling sound that makes my ears bleed. “It doesn't take long for any of them to fall for his tricks, and you’re no different. It takes a special sort of desperation to not be able to see through a man like Billy.” She shrugs, dropping her arms by her sides, dropping her gaze at the same time, slowly rolling her eyes up the length of my body like she finds me severely lacking.
“I’m the desperate one?” I smile then too, something soft and relaxed,real, watching her face fall, her eyes narrowing with irritation, just slightly, but enough for me to notice. “Your desperation stinks worse than your perfume.”
A curl to her top lip, a snarl of disgust, like that line really hit a nerve, she lifts her perfectly plucked eyebrows and kisses her teeth, making a sucking sound at me before she licks over her lips.
“You know,” she starts slowly, a wicked smile refinding her face, “it would be an awful shame if someone were to find out what you did to poor Thomas Avery, wouldn’t it?”
I try not to let it show.
