Marcherie stands, bracing her hands on the lip of the tub and looming over Claudia. “No, you don’t. I can hear it in your voice. Even now, you’re looking at me like you’re scared I could try to hurt you again.”
With one arm clasped over her breasts, Claudia uses her other hand to gesture to Marcherie’s intense stance. “Well, maybe look at yourself right now. You broke into my room and—”
“I did not break in,” Marcherie snaps, head tilted in confusion. “I told you. I have a key.”
“I wasn’t the one who gave it to you, which means I never gave you permission to use it. So, at best, you’re here uninvited, staring at me while I’m naked in a bath, and you’re refusing to leave. Do you see why I don’t want to talk to you right now? Or at all?”
“Fine.” She turns sharply, nearly knocking over her chair. From the doorway, she looks back with a cutting glare. “Finish your bath. We’ll talk later.”
Claudia groans, bringing her knees to her chest. “Fine.”
Marcherie leaves, closing the bathroom door behind her. That woman is a bully, an attempted-murderer, and now, worst of all, she’s a bath-ruiner. The water has gone completely cold and the bubbles are all popped. The last of the soap sits like frothy globs of spit on the surface. Claudia, shivering, steps out of the tub and towels off, muttering, “Bitch,” over and over.
She pulls on her nightdress and walks out to her room, only to find Marcherie sitting on her bed.
The singer smiles brightly, patting a place on the bed, signaling for Claudia to sit next to her. “Now, where were we?”
Claudia looks at Bishop in his enclosure. He may be a snake with a brain the size of a mayfly, but he’s looking up at Claudia with eyes that scream,Mother, this woman is fucked in the head.
“You said you were leaving.”
“No. I said we’d talk later.” She raises her brows and pats the bed again. “It’s later. Let’s talk.”
“What more is there to say? You called me a murderer and tried to kill me, but now you feel bad. Fine.” Claudia throws her hands up, surrendering. “I accept your apology. Let’s move on.”
“But you didn’t accept it—not in your heart of hearts. I want you to mean it. What can I do to make you truly forgive me?”
“You could leave me alone.”
She tsks and shrugs. “Can’t do that.”
A drop of water from Claudia’s hair slides down her forehead. “Why not?”
“Because your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends, so we need to be friends, too.”
She laughs. “I do not see that happening.”
“Why?” Marcherie places her hand on her heart. She looks genuinely confused. “I’m a very fun friend.”
Claudia waves her toward the door. “Then go be other people’s friend.”
“But I need to beyourfriend.”
“No, you really don’t.”
Marcherie lets out a grunt. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Because I’m in a bad mood and you tried to kill me.”
Breezing over the last half of Claudia’s sentence, Marcherie asks, “Why are you in a bad mood?”
Claudia rubs her temples and closes her eyes. “I’m stressed.”
“Why?”
Her eyes snap open wide. “Because you tried tokillme.”
“I told you I’m sorry! Stop going in circles and let the conversation move forward! That’s probably why you’re so stressed, you know.” She relaxes back on Claudia’s bed, leaning against the headboard. “You’re dwelling on the past. You’re a dweller.”
