Page 87 of Bad Seed
Jostling the box of peppers into my hands, I cry out once more, “Thank you so much for—”
Olivia waves her hand, her back to me. “It was fun. I haven’t gotten to use my new bear mace yet. You have any other old boyfriends who need a jolt?”
Maybe, but he’s run off to Greece.
I flinch. For as much as my heart hurts, Aubry’s a tenth, no—a thousandth as awful as Derek ever was.
“Sorry. Maybe the next one.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Olivia says before vanishing around the bend.
After dead bolting the front door, I carry the box of peppers to my room. Without thinking about Derek, or a knife, or how much getting cut hurts, I set up my camera and light box. Work is the best distraction before I fall to pieces. Green peppers. I could do something cute, maybe put googly eyes on them. And a little hat. Maybe do a garden set up.
I’ve set up three scenarios and taken them all down before I stop and wonder who sent me these things. The box is no help. There isn’t even a shipping label.
Hmm… There’s got to be an email.
If not for my email, I’d never remember a single client. Though I do sometimes forget to bill them.
Focus.
“I’m heading out,” Olivia shouts.
“Bye,” I call back, deep into the weeds of my inbox. There’s the popsicle job from spring. Two for the protein cereal that smells like dog food. One of a guy demanding I take pictures of his junk. Delete. Huh…?
I’m all the way back to last December and can’t find anything about a bell pepper. That’s weird.
A loud crash happens somewhere outside of my bubble. “Did you forget something?” I call out to my roommate.
She doesn’t respond.
“Olivia?” I look up.
A hand clamps over my mouth and nose.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
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AUBRY
Eggplant…
I yank the cork out of a bottle with my teeth and spit it out. Astin dives for the cork as I fill my glass with—
Tristan Harty Tequila.
Whatever.
I don’t bother with ice, or even cleaning the glass, and press it to my lips.
“Fucking eggplant.” Groaning, I toss half of the pour down my gullet and shiver. It tastes like a man left to die in the desert.
I fill my glass again.
A fat ass seagull lands on one of the dock piers. Its head snaps around while trying to focus on Astin who’s scratching at the wood under us. I haven’t moved in the past two days, just sat here in paradise watching the sun skip across the sky. And moped.
