“What?”
“I don’t want to leave. I want to be with him. I want to stay with him. Even if he did it,” she admits. “What kind of person does that make me?”
Someone who is blinded by love… or dickmatized. Probably the latter. She can’t possibly love this man after just a few days.
“You are one of the kindest, most loyal, most trustworthy people I know, Charlotte. There isn’t a terrible bone in your body. I’ve never even heard you utter the wordsbless your heartto anyone. You are a good person. So who cares if you want to spend some time getting thoroughly fucked by a god? That doesn’t make you bad,” I tell her.
“He’s a murderer, Evie.”
“With a good dick,” I add.
“Well, yeah, but he killed Owen,” she says in a hushed tone.
“First, I doubt he’s killing people with his dick, which is the part of him you’re addicted to. And second, we don’t know that for sure. Neither of us was there. We didn’t see anything.”
“Just because you don’t see something, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” she says.
My heart picks up speed. I know better than anyone how true that is.
“I know that.” My hands shake. I can feel the sweat on my forehead.
“Shit, Evie, I’m sorry.” Charlotte jumps off the bed and wraps her arms around me. “I’ve been so focused on my own issues I didn’t think about what I was saying.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, holding on to her tighter.
“It’s not. But we will be. Both of us,” she says.
Shewill be. Me? I’m never going to be okay again. I can fake it, though.
Stepping back out of her embrace, I shake the sadness away and plaster on my best beauty-queen smile. “Right, well, enough of this melancholy. We’re in Vegas and we are going to have a good time.”
“We are. But you need to change. You are not putting me in a slutty dress and heels while you’re staying in Chucks.” Charlotte points to my feet.
I peer down at myself. I’m still wearing the denim dress I put on in the airport bathroom. It was the first thing I did after I got off the flight. I went into the restroom, washed my face, and reapplied a fresh layer of makeup. I was not showing up here not looking my best.
“Okay, I’ll change, but I need to shower first,” I tell her.
“Through there. I’ll be out in the livingroom with Sammie. Take your time,” Charlotte says before disappearing through the bedroom door.
I shut myself inside the bathroom, turn on the hot water, and let the space steam up as I undress. I avoid looking in the mirror. I hate seeing myself naked. Don’t get me wrong. I know I’m beautiful. How could I not? I’ve been told just how beautiful I am throughout my entire life. It’s because of that beauty that I hate my reflection. Nothing good has ever come from it.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. I could use my looks to my advantage if I wanted to. I never do, or at least I try not to. But I can’t help it if people treat me differently based on how I appear on the outside. That’s on them, not me.
What I can do is avoid the truth, and that’s something I have down to a fine art.
I step into the shower and let the water wash over me, piling my hair on top of my head to avoid getting it wet. I don’t want to keep Charlotte too long, and if I have to do a full blowout, she’ll be waiting a while.
After cleansing my entire body, I rinse off the suds and repeat the process. I do this three times before I get out my sugar scrub and rub at my skin. I take my shower process very seriously. This routine keeps everything silky-smooth.
Once I’m out of the shower, I tap my skin dry with a soft towel before applying a floral-scented lotion. This is then repeated with a floral-scented body oil. When I’m done, I wrap a towel around myself and wipe the fog away from the mirror.
“Right, time to fix yourself, Evie,” I whisper to my bare-faced reflection.
There are days I wish I could go out without a speck of makeup on. What would people think if they saw the tiny freckles that dot my nose? Would they notice that my skin sometimes blotches? Would they treat me differently?
Today is not the day I’m going to find out.
I walk into the bedroom and retrieve my makeup bag, and forty minutes later, my hair and face are perfectly done. Next, I dig into my bag and pull out my black leather shorts and matching black corset. I told Charlotte I would get dressed up just as slutty as I made her. For me, that’s easy. I’m used to people staring at me. It doesn’t matter what I wear. They still stare.
