Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,145
Get off my fucking sofa!” I stare down at her in dismay, watching as she stains the only decent thing that I own outside of this property, this rambling decrepit mess that the fuckers next door keep trying to have declared uninhabitable. Not my sofa. Anything but my sofa.
“I need the bathroom,” Rosaline says. Still not moving. Desperate, I go around behind her and hook my arms under her shoulders, basically dragging her to the bathroom. We leave a red trail down the hallway, making me wince. It looks like somebody just got murdered here.
I carry her into the downstairs bathroom and help her into the tub, turning the taps on full. Rosaline screams when freezing cold water hits her thighs, trying to scramble out of the bath. I keep one hand firmly planted on her shoulder, to stop her from thrashing around like a wet cat, as I locate the plug and shove it into the hole in the bottom of the tub.
“Running water,” I say, shaking my head in mock surprise. “Who’d have thought?”
“No hot water,” she whimpers, her lips a little blue around the edges.
“Mmm, it’s practically barbaric,” I muse. “You poor thing. Don’t you dare die, you hear me?”
She smiles, trying to cup my chin with her blood-stained hand. “Aww, you’re so sweet.”
I pull my face out of her reach. “Your blood is literally all over my house. If you die, it’ll be like CSI: Verona Heights in here. And guess who they’ll be arresting?”
The water is covering her legs now, and Rosaline seems to be adjusting to the temperature. I’ve even added a little hot water to take off the edge. I’m not completely heartless.
“Stay in there until the bleeding stops,” I instruct her, heading for the door. I let out a groan when I see the crime scene left in her wake, sinking down onto the un-bloodied end of my couch as I survey the destruction around me. Empty wine and whiskey bottles in the corner. My mirrored coffee table, still laden with fat caterpillars of speed, waiting to be snorted up. Bright red drops of blood amongst the white powder, blood and smack, looking disturbingly similar to pizza flour and pasta sauce. Gross. This mess was so not worth it.
I sit there for a few minutes, lighting a cigarette. I watch through the large bay windows as a limousine snakes up the long driveway next door. I wonder if it’s her. Probably. It’s her birthday today, and there’ll be a party or some other fancy shit going on. The thought of a bunch of rich assholes standing on the balconies and in the rose garden next door and eyeing off my fire-damaged piece of shit makes anger burn in my belly. I should crash the party. I should drown Rosaline in their fucking pool while everyone watches. I’d drown her in mine, but the pool in my backyard is a swamp now, reserved only for mosquitoes to breed and hatch their babies. I’m daydreaming about sneaking into the party next door later tonight when Rosaline suddenly appears beside me, like a silent ninja, her face still streaked with blood. I put my hand on the Glock that sits on the side table beside me, my fingers wrapped around the butt of the gun before I realize it’s her, and not an intruder.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say, my heart rate spiking like I’ve just been hit with a dose of adrenalin — or snorted a line, I guess.
“I have to get out of here,” Rosaline mumbles, snatching up her handbag and making a beeline for the bathroom again. I frown, puzzled by her sudden change of heart. My suspicion grows as she closes the bathroom door again, and I hear muted rummaging.
Fucking bitch. I know exactly what she’s doing.
I drag my phone out of my jeans pocket, shoot off a text.
Bitch is in my bathroom trying to steal my stash.
Three little bubbles pop up under my message right away.
I’m in your driveway. Want me to bring the crew?
Can I eat this pizza, then?
One ear still on Rosaline in the bathroom, I reply.
No. Let’s keep this between us. Bring the pizza. I’m starved.
Rosaline exits the bathroom, stepping around her own trail of nose-blood with bare feet. She looks like a dead corpse walking.
“Rosie,” I say sweetly, kicking back on my couch. “I thought you wanted to stay?”
She smiles. “I need to get home, freshen up. Call you later?”