Page 27 of Silent Ties

Of all the strange things the past month, it’s this moment, right here, that takes the cake.

We stand inches from each other, not daring to breathe and I pray the dark green curtain hides us enough.

It doesn’t help that the person takes their sweet damn time.

Nails clack against a phone, typing. Then they scoot over to the toilet. For a full minute only the sound of piss fills the bathroom.

Then the person proceeds to sitthere.

It gives me time to take in this new person.

The first thing I notice is the sneakers. They’re not gym shoes by any means but why the fuck didn’t I get the memo? Her black dress stops above her knees, gold stitching accenting the material. Dark brunette hair hangs in deep, pretty waves, without a hint of frizz. Chocolate chip eyes remain wide, doing their own assessment, and when she subtly shifts her hair my breath catches.

A brutal scar runs down her cheek. It’s old, no longer red, but the deeply grooved skin tells me the original wound took a chunk out of her. She tilts her head down, hair cascading over her face again.

The toilet flushes, the faucet turns on, and after yet another couple of minutes of primping and prepping, the person leaves.

I hop out and lock the door. “What the fuck were you doing in the bathtub?”

The girl is halfway out, her leg getting caught in the curtain.

“Sorry!” she squeaks and pushes at the material. Once she’s free, she slides her hands down her dress, but the hair remains in her face. “I’m so sorry!”

“Why were you hiding in the bathroom?” I repeat.

“I freaked out!” She tilts her feet, her inner soles coming together. “There were people. A person. And I tried to hide and I’m sorry, the door didn’t lock, and I’m so sorry.”

“Did the person chase you into the bathroom?” Can I expect this level of shit show at every Zimin party?

“No! Well, it got close. I don’t know, sorry!”

I feel bad for this person, whoever they are, because that’s how awkward they are. And it’s not exactly like I can say much.

I cross my arms over my chest. “So you. . .”

She nods. “Everyone knows Yelena is a bitch but that was. . .”

My face heats but I can’t bring myself to inspect it in the mirror. I don’t want to face the physical evidence.

The girl lifts a hand, her voice gentle. “Did it hurt?”

I step out of her reach and she leans her head to the side. Not enough for her hair to fall completely out of her face, though. She knows exactly how to keep the scar hidden.

“It’s fine,” I say firmly taking inspiration from her. Dislodging a few bobby pins, hair tumbles down my face. I don’t think about how hard I worked on my hair before we got here.

“That was really cruel,” she whispers.

Her pity sparks pinpricks at the corner of my eyes. “Um, who are you?”

“Oh, right.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Leonora. But everyone calls me Lennie.”

It fits. The way she’s sophisticated in her dress, but down to earth with the sneakers. We shake hands and I introduce myself though there’s no doubt she knows exactly who I am.

“Do you make a habit of hiding in bathtubs?”

Her cheeks flush. “Yeah, sorry. I. . .”

“You think we could get away with hiding here all night?”

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