Also, the cold night air clears my head. I’m not that far from my home, and a walk might help to shake off the sensations in my body.
Being called a wallflower has triggered something in me. Back in school, when all the other girls had boyfriends, everyone called me an invisible wallflower with no personality.
I shudder. Thinking back to my time in school is something I try to avoid. My mother brooded over me with her expectations, the other pupils disliking me, and my teachers finding me very much annoying—it was a horrible time, one I want to forget. I became a teacher for a reason, so none of this happens to a pupil under my watch. And this woman dares to bring it all back up.
I am not a wallflower. Just because everyone left and right throws themselves at men doesn’t mean I am something less. I never felt any desire towards men, not even a bit of curiosity. I had a crush on several women, but my mother made it quite clear that it was something unnatural and told me it was just a phase.
It was never a phase. But now I am twenty-seven and have absolutely no clue how to get to know any women. I met one, once, a couple of months ago. But when she heard I had no experience, I never heard from her again. My first and definitely last ghosting experience. I’m happy with my cats, my books, and the peace in my life.
The peace that was disrupted by a stupid rich lady. And Bella.
“Bella,” I gasp out. I should go to the hospital.
I am still flabbergasted by the fact that Victoria Fitzroy managed to find out where Bella had been taken within the matter of five minutes. Private data of someone admitted to a hospital. One call. In the middle of the night.
I shrug my shoulders and roll them back, just thinking of all the violations that act caused. There is something fundamentally wrong with rich people.
“Okay, what am I doing?” I ask myself.
Back home. I need to get back home to think it through and decide what to do.
It takes me twenty minutes to walk home. When I close the door behind me and lean against it, all the stress floods from my body. I sink to the floor, and my female cat immediately comes to climb onto me. She’s so clingy that I could carry her around in a baby carrier all day, and she would be the happiest cat on the planet.
I stroke over her soft fur, she purrs, and for this sweet moment, the world is alright again.
I should call Bella’s parents. Or the hospital will. Or the police. I could just keep sitting here. Maybe I will. Just for a couple more minutes.
Horribly bright sunlight burns my eyes when I wake up, lying on the floor in front of the door, still in my coat with my female cat curled up to my chest.
My head hurts as much as my body when I heave myself from the floor. Maybe it has all been a very bad dream?—
But when I look at my phone, I know it’s not.
Thirteen missed calls from Bella’s dad. My heart pounds in my chest the moment I see it, and I am wide awake. I sit down on the sofa before I dial him, and my cat immediately follows me and jumps onto my lap.
“Mia,” he says without a hello, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course, Bella, is she—?“ I ask, but he interrupts me.
“She’s alright,” he says. “We got a house call, please tell me what happened, the Police said drugs?”
“I don’t really know,” I say. I don’t want to get her into more trouble. Their relationship is a love-hate one that got tainted over the years. “She went out, she sent me messages, I called her, she was drunk, and well, I went to get her, she always sends me her location after she got lost that one night, and the Police came in the end and opened the house?—“
A cold shudder runs down my back as I recall the happenings of the night. The dead man.
“Is Bella really okay?” I ask.
“She is, will be. They suspect the drugs were mixed with toxins.”
“Oh blimey,” I say. “Are you with her right now? Can I come see her?”
“She’s asleep right now, but I’ll let you know the moment she’s awake. We’re at St Thomas. Her mother is flying in from the States.”
“Thank you,” I say, and we hung up.
Bella will freak out when she hears her mother is coming. One of the few things Bella and I have in common—and the thing we initially bonded over—is what we have endured, and still have to endure, from our mothers. Yet, they’re our mothers. And we love them, even if they make us miserable with their unreachable standards, expectations beyond the moon, and the voice of criticism in our minds. The one I quieten with books and isolation, and Bella with alcohol and men.
I sit for another moment on the sofa before I take my cat and put away my coat and shoes. She loves to be carried around all day, and if I were a really good cat mum, I really would’ve gotten a baby carrier or scarf and carried her around all day. But that would go too far, also, what would people say if anyone ever found out?
