Page 51 of Terror at the Gates

She made me feel like I was the center of her universe and that my absence would send her entire world out of orbit. If I never got another thing out of this life, Coco’s friendship would be enough.

“Let’s get out of the breezeway before someone creepy comes along,” she said, pulling me into our apartment and bolting the assembly of locks on our door. “Do you need anything?” she asked. “Water, food…pain meds?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m going to wash my face and go to bed. You should get some rest. You have work tomorrow.”

“You mean today,” she said. “It’s four a.m.”

“Fuck.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry, Coco.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I have all day to sleep.”

I swallowed, and my eyes began to water. I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt the urge to cry. I inhaled through my nose and ran my fingers under my eyes to catch the tears. I thought part of me was overwhelmed, and another part of me just hurt. Literally.

“Oh, babes,” Coco said, unfolding her arms and pullingme into another hug. “Whatever happened, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow…today…whatever.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said.

The thing I loved about Coco was that she never pushed. When we first met at Praise two years ago, she had no idea who I was, and she didn’t care. She’d just seen something in me she liked. She was the first person to ever show me kindness, approaching out of the blue to introduce herself. The rest was history.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too,” she said, pulling away. “Get some sleep.”

I wandered down the hall and made my way to our shitty bathroom. It was painted and tiled in pink. There was rust in the sink and a perpetual colony of mold growing in the caulking around the bath, and if we weren’t careful, the medicine cabinet would fall out of the wall, but at least the water was hot.

And I mean scalding.

I looked in the mirror.

I was pale, though the light in this room always made my olive skin look more yellow. My face was smeared with black from my liner and mascara, and my eyes were bloodshot. I looked just about as bad as I felt.

I pulled my hair back and turned on the faucet to wash my face. I let the water pool between my hands until it was warm and splashed my face before massaging cleanser into my skin. I already felt better. Like I was washing away everything that had gone wrong today.

I started to rinse my face when I noticed the water running red.

A tingling sensation spread throughout my body,erupting in my chest. I couldn’t breathe, and the edges of my vision blurred, tinged with the same shade of red.

I was going to die in this shitty pink bathroom.

I snatched a towel from the bar and blotted my face as I straightened and peered into the mirror, but there was no sign of blood.

The panic that had filled me so suddenly vanished.

I took a deep breath and let my head fall back. I kept my eyes closed for a moment before opening them to stare at the square fluorescent light in the middle of the room.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I looked in the mirror again. The woman who stared back was fucking tired.

I threw my towel into the sink and returned to my bedroom. I stripped out of my damp clothes and pulled on a dry tank top and underwear before I threw my coat off the bed and searched my bag for my phone, tossing the heels I’d worn for Zahariev to the floor.

My face flushed at the memory. I was going to have to do some work on those pesky feelings.

Finally, I found my phone at the bottom of my bag. There were several missed calls and texts from Coco, one from my dad.

It was a picture of an invitation to my mother’s gala.

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