Page 23 of Rush of Jealousy

“But you have cute little bags of peanuts to hand out to the crowd,” she whines, thinking that her pouty face will work. I am sure it does on the opposite gender.

“I can’t be handing those things out. What happens if people have allergies?”

She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Halloween is not the time to be realistic. It’s the time to have fun!”

I shake my head at her. “Bring on the fun.”

She spins around and grabs something off the floor, placing it on my head. “And your hat, don’t forget your hat.”

“You think it will assist in making my outfit less slutty?” I implore, furious that I even allowed her to persuade me to purchase the pre-bagged costume without first demanding a worker open it up for inspection. Apparently the outfit isn’t meant for girls taller than five feet, because my five-foot-five frame looks preposterous in it.

“Add some thigh-highs and some high boots for extra coverage. Oh! And you forgot your iconic scarf and little luggage handbag.”

“Gee, thanks,” I grumble, slipping my feet into shoes instead. There’s only so much fashion advice I can take from her before I start to question her motives.

I watch in utter silence, gaping at the flutter in front of me, as Claire sweeps up the sheer nylon white scarf and ties it around my neck. The thing only makes the bare expanse of my chest stand out more. If the short blue dress with the gold embellishments isn’t enough to draw unnecessary attention to me, then the scarf will. Without any more protesting, Claire sashays about the room, picking up my handbag, a tray of peanuts, and a hat. I apparently have to wear the hat because it “so completes the outfit.”

Claire’s costume isn’t conservative in any aspect either, which I guess makes this marginally better. She made something as innocent as a butterfly look downright inappropriate.

“I will wax off your eyebrows while you sleep if you post any hideous pictures online for your followers to critique.”

Her mock horror makes me laugh.

“Too bad Teddy Graham can’t witness your sexy self.”

I choke-cough over her new nickname for him. I think back to how soothing and cuddly he was when I was getting stitched up. I guess, in a way, he was my teddy bear, so the name suits him.

“What has he been up to these days?” she asks.

“Wow, subtle transition into checking in on me to see if I’m following through with my detox and dream board goals.”

“Did it work?”

I shake my head at her absurdity. She really is one of a kind. Like if Katy Perry and Jimmy Fallon made a baby…it would be Claire. It is a damn shame that her parents don’t see how amazing she can be if she is allowed to fly.

“But seriously, have you talked with him?” She looks at me expectantly but continues on. “I’m surprised he hasn’t sent you a million gifts during this groveling period. Or sang music from a boombox below your bedroom window.”

I laugh over her usage of the word boombox. What decade is she from? “He basically sends me reminders to change my bandage, check for an infection, eat a meal, set the security system, eat another meal, and to accept a grocery delivery service that he wants to set up. And pay for, of course. He pretty much does everything in his power to treat me like an invalid. Such a turn-on.”

“Oh, this could be fun if you do the latter option.”

“I’m not doing any option,” I remind her.

Claire’s demeanor perks up. It’s how she reacts when she thinks she has some amazing idea. “You could get lube and condoms and fun stuff like that delivered—just to make him squirm.”

“It’s not like he would have access to what I’d be ordering, Claire.” As soon as I say the words, I realize how false they are.

“Yeah, right. That man makes actual stalkers look like amateurs.” She grabs her detached wings, and I follow her out to her car.

I stop on the sidewalk and look back up to the house. “He didn’t put any cameras inside, right?”

“Hell if I know. But I’ve been deliberately getting dressed in my dark closet, just in case.” She laughs at my horrified expression, making me laugh in return. At least we can have fun over the circus that is known as my life.

“Maybe I should drive,” I suggest calmly.

“And why is that?” She turns to me suddenly, a frown marring her beautiful made-up face. She painted the pattern from her wings on her face with black liner and then shaded in each section with a vibrant color of makeup to look like stained glass. She looks exotic.

“Driving in that tight getup will make things challenging, right?”

---