Page 68 of Rather: The Therapist

I twisted every knob on the stove and stepped aside as my small arsenal was revealed. I removed the prettiest and sassiest of them all, the Tiger Striped PMXs. It fit between my fingers like a glove. I grabbed a smaller, more compact pistol and shoved it in the pocket of my robe. It dangled, stretching the fabric due to his heaviness.

Still, I pushed forward and made my way toward the door, no longer worried about the cameras. When I opened the door, I’d see everything I needed to see. I trusted my own vision more than technology, anyway.

Ding. Dong.

I drew closer and closer to my door as the bell sounded again. With the PMXs ready to go and trained on the frosted glass that I couldn’t see out of and no one could see inside, I unlocked it and pulled the handle. As I began to press the trigger, ready to squeeze and end the life on the other side of the door, I noticed the sienna-colored skin and curly barrels of hair.

“Oh God. Please don’t end my life tonight. I just got a new manicure and haven’t taken the photos like I promised Tina. She’ll hate me all the way in heaven,” Kleigh begged.

“Don’t ever come unannounced,” I warned, pulling her into the house and locking the door behind her.

“Sorry, but I didn’t have your number. I stole your address from the family’s database. There wasn’t a number for you, though.”

“Your brother has my number.”

“Well, I tried reaching him but wherever he is, the music is too loud and his attention span is too short.”

“Figures.”

I lowered my weapon and straightened my spine as we stood in the foyer. I was waiting for her to state her order of business so I could get on with my evening.

“Aren’t you going to put that away?” She wondered out loud.

“I’m not. I’d like you to tell me your reason for being here.”

“God, so intense. Are the rest of the girls like this or is there at least one that’s less serious and into gir–”

“State your busin–”

“Okay. I see I’ve started off on the wrong foot by popping up, but please disregard my lack of etiquette. My parents taught me better. I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

“I’ve grown up around boys my entire life and always wanted a sister or a girlfriend I’m really close to but– Well, neither of those ever happened. I mean, Lola, for a few years but she turned out to be someone other th–”

“Lola?”

“Princeton’s mother.”

“Princeton?”

“My nephew. Priest’s son.”

Asshole has a child. Asshole Jr. I noted. Hopefully he didn’t take after his father.

“At dinner I felt like maybe our conversation was the start of a healthy relationship between you and I. You’re here alone and I’ve been alone since I discovered Kofi was another boy and not the sister I’d dreamed of. So, I brought snacks and pajamas, hair rollers, my laptop, a few credit cards, wine, and a movie.”

Because she was empty-handed, nothing she was saying made much sense.

“Did you now?”

“Bad idea?” She cringed, squinting her features.

No. The Mansion just happens to be a better one.

With a raised brow, I remained silent, knowing she had more to say. She was the cutest thing, brimming with excitement she was trying to contain. Letting her down would break my heart. I could settle for a deflated pearl between my legs.

What I couldn’t settle for was the look of disappointment on her face and the chance to indulge in what I loved most about the human existence. Womanhood. Sisterhood.

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