Wow, Jilly has such a smart mouth on her.
“Who is this?” A sharp kick to the stall door makes me jump.
“Jilly Rainmoor.”
“Oh, Lawnmower Jill.” The two DeLuca girls laugh together outside the stall. “Do you know why they call you that? Because they say you’re an easy lay, but a boring and slow ride.”
Jilly’s face turns a warm shade of pink, and she reaches for the door lock, but I grab her hand and shake my head, pleading silently with her not to open it and give my presence away.
“Fuck you.” She resorts to insults as she can’t go out there and punch them. “At least people want to ride me. They don’t even want to get on board either of you. If I were you girls and I was starting to play around with the likes of the Mancinis, I’d get myself to a plastic surgeon.”
“Screw you, slut.”
The door slams a moment later, and I sag against the stall.
“You going to stomp on that?” She points at the drawing.
“No, leave it. He’ll know the moment he sees it who left it, and he’ll get the message loud and clear that this is war.”
“Ren—” Jilly tries to reason with me, but I cut her off as I focus on the fury clawing at me.
“No. Matteo Mancini can fuck off. He’s dead to me.” Rage snakes up my spine, and I grip my fists at my sides, an unfamiliar warmth blanketing me. I make a vow there and then. I’ll never let myself get so stupid and in over my head about a man again. How could I have done so? I’ve seen how my brother treats women, and he’s still a damn teenager. He acts like he’s a big man, and he talks about women and girls as if they are trash. My father is a pig too, in his own way. Sexist and boorish. Then there are the soldiers who work for Babbo. Disgusting. Every. Single. One.
Never again will I allow a man to use me and crush my heart like Matteo has. I’ll use men as Nico and my father use women. For sex, money, or power. Then I’ll toss them aside as if they never mattered to me anyway. Because they won’t. I’ll harden my heart and strengthen my resolve.
Fuck them all.
Jill stares at me in shock as I unlock the door and sling it open.
She turns slowly as I step out of the stall, watching me on bated breath. I brace my hands against the vanity as my chin dips to my chest, and I try to slow the scattered breath rushing through my lungs. My hands feel damp with sweat, so I turn the water on and wash the clammy sensation away. I lather my hands in a designer lotion, and even the scent sparks my anger brighter. I watch in stark bewilderment as the glass bottle flings from my hand with force and crashes against the mirror. Oh. That felt wonderful. I pick up another bottle and then another, smashing the expensive glass against the gold marble sink. The putrid scent of florals and musk wafting together stinks up the room, a beautiful portrait of hatred and despair shattered all around me in shards of glass.
“Renata…” Jill eyes me with a cautious regard. “What have you done?”
My brow arches as my eyes cut to hers, and I heave deep to catch my breath.
“I’ve never seen you so angry, so hurt. You’re scaring me, Rennie. Talk to me,” she pleads as she grips my hand.
I’m suddenly snapped out of this raw moment of anger as Jilly’s touch sends a flame of heat down my hand, and I jerk back and cradle my palm to my chest as if she’s just injured me. My vision focuses on the mess around me, and I look down to assess the throbbing pain that radiates through my hand. A bead of crimson trails from my palm to my fingertips. I fist it closed and smile to myself in the wake of my destruction.
“You’re bleeding! Oh my God, Rennie. How bad is it?” Jilly reaches for my hand, but I hold it tighter to my chest and shake my head.
“I’m fine, Jilly. Really.”
“Let me see, Rennie, now.”
I flex my hand open and wince at the deep gash in my palm.
“How are you going to hide that from your mamma? You need to see a doctor.”
I ignore her concern and fist my hand tight to staunch the flow of blood, and a beautiful smear of red trickles to the expensive floor beneath me.
“Talk to me, Rennie. What are you thinking in there? Snap out of it!”
I giggle and don’t even recognize my own voice.
“I’m thinking that the only way to be something in this world, Jilly, is to beat the men at their own games.”
“Yes, bitch!” She claps her hands together. “Now, you’re talking.”