‘Used you? If my memory serves, you were pretty fucking vocal last night as he was two knuckles deep inside you. He could have done dental work with how wide open your mouth was. Get your tonsils tickled by dick often?’
I consider upping my dosage as I empty two pills into my hand from the cabinet and knock them back dry, immediately regretting it and rushing to fill up a cup when I realise how swollen my throat is from Bobby’s methods of restraining me last night. Stripping down, I reach in to turn on the shower. I catch sight of my chest in the mirror.
“Those mother fuckers!” I lick my thumb and rub at the tattoo that matches theirs located in the curve between my breasts, until the skin is red raw. It’s not budging. “They actually branded me.” A part of me thought that my brain had made it up, that the buzzing and Cooper sliding on those gloves were just figments of my fragmented memory piecing together the pot holes made by the drugs they’d given me. I tamp down the smile that wants to break on my face and decide that I’m angry at them. Turning off the shower and slipping back into Caleb’s t-shirt, I grab a cardigan from the back of the door.
Shuffling into the living room and massaging my neck, I see Megan swaying her hips along to the radio, mumbling the wrong verse with confidence as she attempts the high notes.
Distracted with my open purse on the dining table, I fiddle around to make sure everything is where it should be. That is before a horrified squeak fills the air and a blurof pink runs at me. Megan paws at my face softly, wincing with me as her fingers caress the mottled purple bruising that is blooming around the nasty cut on my cheek.
“You look like a cuddly bear in this.” With my smile full of warmth, I run my fingers through the fluffy dressing gown she’s got wrapped tightly around herself, the bejewelled initials on the breast pocket glittering under the kitchen light.
“And you look like Mike Tyson took a personal dislike to your face. What happened, babe?”
Carjacking? Bank robbery? Dick in the eye?
Fuck, I’m useless at this.
I opt for the easiest option that will explain all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on my body.
“I was mugged. I thought I could walk home alone after midnight like an idiot—and bam, some six-foot beast sucker-punched me as I got to the main road.” For a second, I’m pleasantly surprised with my attention to detail, mentally cataloguing my wounds from head to toe to make sure they coincide with my story.
“Did he have a dog with him?” She trails her finger over the fine line scratches that look like exactly what they are, the preferred DNA swap method for all aspiring rapists who need to cut their fucking fingernails.
“I was also dragged into the bushes,” I tag on, no longer caring if the lie flies. I doubt she’ll call me out on it. One perfectly timed tear and I could have her blowing off classes to pig out in our PJs and watch crappy romance films all day.
I won’t, of course, but I could.
“What the actual fuck, Ebony? You should never leavea party alone,” she chastises with a wagging finger like a parent in the throes of raising a teenager—not that I’d have any idea what that even looks like, but I’d watched a lot of daytime afterschool TV, and the parents in those seemed to have their shit together. The torture techniques Mr and Mrs Turner adopted when executing child rearing 101 was more military than mindful.
“It could have been the killer; do you know how lucky you are right now?” she stresses.
“If it was the killer, I’d be dead. It’s more likely that it was some arsehole probably jonesing for his next fix.”
“But still, I mean…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, her face filled with worry for me as she chews on her pink nails. I grab her hands, catching sight of the rope marks left on my wrists, and quickly pull her in closer so she is forced to look deep into my eyes. Adding ropes to the already carefully curated mugging story will only lead to me tripping up on the lie further. I barely skated by with the addition of bushes; this would likely send her over the edge.
“Look, let’s not dwell on who it was. It’s a nice day, and I smell bacon.”
Heading over to the stove where the meat is sizzling in the pan, I quickly tug down the sleeves of my cardigan to cover the marks on my wrists.
“Are we feeding the five thousand?” I look between the already filled bowl of cooked bacon beside me that is still steaming and the second generous load in the pan.
Megan joins me and moves the uncooked meat around with a spatula.“That is the tester bacon.” She picks up a piece as stiff as cardboard out of the bowl and brings it toher lips. “I need a snack while the rest of breakfast is cooking.” I don’t even attempt to fault her logic and swipe a charred piece for myself.
The door swings open as Mateo raps his knuckles against the wood lightly. With a tool bag slung over one shoulder and a bouquet of wildflowers and daisies in the other, he widens his stance, places his fists on his hips like some 80’s superhero and pushes out his chest. Not dissimilar to a peacock presenting themselves to a mate. “Did someone call for a handyman?” he hollers theatrically, forgetting its eight am and that we have neighbours. The thump of fists on the adjoining wall does a good job of reminding him, and he soundlessly apologises, his shoulders meeting his ears as he tiptoes the rest of the way into the apartment.
“Oh, me, I did,” Megan squeals excitedly as she bounces in the air, not giving two fucks about our neighbours, the oil from the spatula in her hand flying everywhere.
His face darkens when he finally turns and sees me. “What happened?”
“Fought off a mugger apparently,” Megan answers for me, rolling her eyes. She glances my way and raises a perfectly primped brow to let me know she didn’t for one second believe my lie.
“You might want to ice that,” he suggests, handing me our mail and striding past me to scoop up Megan, dipping to kiss her affectionately on the forehead.
Bill. Bill. Overdue library books for a library I’m not a member of. Coupon for leg waxing. Ooh the circus is in town. Bill.
I still as I glance down at the lastfolded piece of paper in the pile. Trepidation skitters up my spine as my face throbs at the mere thought of his smiling face as he smacked me so hard I saw stars.
Barely audible, I say on a ragged exhale, “Wow, these went out fast.”
