Page 16 of Deranged Imposter

I shiver; the last thing I want is the flu. I can be unreasonable when I’m sick. An awful man with a terrible attitude.

“Made me scrape my knees, too,” Isa hisses as she scopes the white foam from my head and dips her hands into the water. “But that’s your fault. Your shoes tripped me.”

“Sorry,” I mumble lethargically.

“Did you look at them? I’d assume you would. It has your name written on it.” Her throat squeaks, then a gasping huff glides over my wet hair.

“If it was important, you would’ve told me,” I reckon, closing my eyes.

Important documents are sent by email or mail. Rarely does someone deliver them in a raggedy folder, let alone through a messenger.

“Well, I can’t be the judge of that.” Her fingers stop massaging and dip over my shoulder to blindly search for the water valve.

“Wash up,” she says as she stands. “I’ll tell you when you come out.”

She’s quick to escape the bathroom, slipping along the way, and slams the door shut mid-squeal. She remembers to turn the lights on, so there’s that.

Draining the cloudy water, I hurriedly cleanse my body and dress in a pair of loose sweatpants. I thought she was going to resume the conversation, but she ducked under my arm by the door and into the bathroom for her turn.

While waiting for her to finish showering, I search for the folder she’s talking about. It’s on the wall shelf by the living room window. Heavy, it is. I nudge through the dividers that are labeled with dates and heart doodles.

They are letters written in tanned leather. Disgust tolerates three sentences of absolute stupidity. There are about fifty letters, some brochures, and an autobiography of a woman.

“She’s an Aquarius,” Isa utters from behind.

I see the tail of her dwindling grimace as she rubs her neck. A sign of discomfort. Tossing the folder on the coffee table, I march toward her with somberness in my steps.

“I’m sure she said she was B-blood, or was it O-negative?” she questions while nibbling on her bottom lip.

She mentions irrelevant details, things that boggle her mind, and issues that the woman brought on because Isa felt coerced.

“Why would you offer to help?” It’s possible it’s not the right tone to send the message.

“I told her I can’t do it, which you insist I enforce that boundary, but she was annoying,” Isa defends while propelling her hands up to surrender.

“You know where the trash is.” I jab a finger toward the kitchen as a reminder.

“It’s just…” Isa wavers, guilt flashing in her glowing eyes.

“You have no excuse,” I answer for her.

She twines her fingers into the hem of her shirt and beams a shaky smile. Her heart is in the right place, wanting to do good and not disappoint people, but it’s at the expense of being taken advantage of.

“No excuse,” she agrees and spins around, shuffling feet taking her to her bedroom. “Just me wanting good karma.”

“And being nosy,” I quip.

She glares playfully over her shoulder and nods enthusiastically. Her honesty is adorable.

“It’s human nature to snoop,” she peeps shyly while doing a small spin on her toes to disperse her embarrassment. “But I won’t.”

“Read it if you want, but it’s in the trash tomorrow morning.”

I latch an arm around her waist, hauling her down the hall to where the bedrooms are. I’m a bit insulted and, frankly, upset that she’s choosing to sleep in another room.

Why would she sleep on her own when I’m here to keep her safe and warm?

I don’t believe her saying she wanted to give me space to study. There are two dedicated study rooms at the penthouse, far away from the common area, so I know daily activities don’t seep through the walls.

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