The Rush (The Siren Series) - By Rachel Higginson Page 0,47

to push those depressing thoughts aside they were replaced with hope for tonight, for a little bit of escape from my reality. Even spending time with Chase ignited an excitement inside of me I didn’t want to admit to.

I rolled over in bed, taking the thick, down comforter with me. My hair followed, tangled and wild across my face. I lay there for a few minutes more, letting the early morning light from my wall of bedroom windows seep into my skin and wake me slowly into consciousness. The warmth of the blanket cocooned me in safety and for those few, uninterrupted minutes I felt protected from the rest of my life. I felt safe.

But it was a fleeting feeling that drifted away like the forgotten memories of dreams.

I needed coffee, desperately.

It was that mundane thought that brought reality crashing in around me. My mother was the farthest thing from domesticated as one woman could be, so there was never food in our house, let alone caffeinated necessities. Plus she was a pushy, indoctrinated anorexic. Like those avid PETA supporters that threw cans of red paint on anything fur, my mother looked down at food on my plate with a condescending eye that was almost palpable.

She only ate enough to support her exercise-addiction and fill out her size two cocktail dresses. She expected me to have the same infatuation with non-eating and treadmills. I expected myself to not faint in the middle of the morning because of hunger and add something to my tiny little b-cups.

So this Saturday morning I was going to rebel with a latte and a pastry.

Maybe even two pastries.

I lived a dangerous life.

Damn the man.

Or in this case my mother.

I crawled out of bed and rubbed at my still sleepy eyes. I had taken my makeup off late last night and even though it was a pain to go through the beauty regiment my mother had strictly laid out for me, I was thankful now to have a scrubbed face. I tossed my boy shorts and cami on the floor and wiggled into some gray skinny jeans. I grabbed the first bra I could find and then slipped an off the shoulder soft pink cashmere sweater on before pulling my hair into a ponytail without bothering to brush through it. Later today I would take the time for a shower, and blow dry and all that, right now my mind was firmly set on a twenty-four-ounce caramel macchiato and a cream puff. I had tunnel vision and that prompted the single swipe of mascara and lip gloss that constituted my make-up and the ballet flats I left near my bedroom door on my way in last night.

Not my best effort at looking good, but the coffee shop was only across the street and it was still too early for my mother to have skulked from her own bed and joined the land of the living. She stayed out later than I did, and where my drinks consisted of water on the rocks, her drinks were filled with Grey Goose and Bombay Sapphire. She wouldn’t need coffee. She needed an injection from the fountain of youth to recover from that kind of licentiousness. To be fair though, whenever the women of our circle were gathered together in small quarters like they were last night, they all needed copious amounts of alcohol to forge through the fake friendships and plastic pleasantries. These women did not play well together.

I grabbed my apartment keys and wallet and slipped out of the house unnoticed. The entire condo complex was quiet and still as I walked to the bank of elevators and waited for one to take me down to the lobby. Our complex was one of many brand new pieces of trendy architecture in this part of Omaha. Sleek, modern and artfully chic, this living arrangement fit my mother’s personality perfectly. I walked out the front doors of our building and through the drive up circle that included a hotel, a posh gym and a fancy restaurant. Across the street stood a three story dine-in movie theater, one of a kind in this city, and a coffee shop recently transplanted from downtown.

I crossed the street without waiting for the walk sign; there was virtually no traffic this early and not even the shadows of the building fell on the empty street. The autumn sun was bright this morning, warming the chill in the air and igniting the crisp smell of leaves