Page 16 of The Twins

Grey

Los Angeles - EARLIER

Periods suck.I get it.

I’m on the floor, hyperventilating, not because I hate my body and the pain that comes with it every month. I’m ecstatic.

Also, I didn’t bring any tampons, and this establishment is too fancy for a glass bowl of menstrual products. Women that come here most likely don’t acknowledge that they have periods or that they occasionally spend a little more time in the bathroom, too, and that it’s not because they need their eyebrows on fleek.

Oh, excuse me.

That’s the Los Angeles talking. I’ve only been here for a couple of months, but that’s enough to be bitten by every bug possible. I’m going crazy with the contrasts of culture in this city.

We’re lucky.

And I’m double lucky because I just got my period.

I take a deep breath, but I shake all over. Vegas must be wondering what I’m up to. He’d come over right this instant if I messaged him.

Lifting my phone from the floor, I decide not to call him, though. Instead, I gaze at my display. Tara took this picture of Charles, Remo, Vegas, and me at the Santa Monica Pier. I’ve got a cone of ice cream melting in my hand, but I smile at Tara while she snaps our picture. Vegas has the dirty version of this scene on his phone, the one where I lick drops of the melted ice cream from the top of my hand while he’s hugging me from behind.

That day was one of my first days in LA, and the memory grounds me. I remember Charles driving us down there and Tara wearing her Dr. Martens in the heat of the summer. Remo kept me close, and Vegas couldn’t keep his mouth shut about what he would do to my pussy later. It was one of the first days of the rest of my life.

I’d spent years preparing myself for that moment.

Spending time with friends at the beach.

Being normal. (As normal as somebody with three boyfriends can be)

I cry freely in my solitude.

Until I’m interrupted. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“Sorry, what?” I clear my throat, relying on my knees to get me up from the marble floor. My knees are wobbly, and I don’t manage to stand. It’s a fancy place, but I shouldn’t sit on the floor in my dress. That’s nasty, and I wasn’t raised… Fuck all of that, as Vegas would say.

I’m his sugar puff now, and I don’t need my parents’ lessons.

I wipe my tears with the back of my hand.

“I asked whether you needed help with anything,” the woman says, and I let my eyes wander. The first thing I notice about her is the endless beauty she carries herself with. She stands nearby with enough distance so that she can bail if she must.

… if I were a danger to her safety.

I understand that. I’ve come to terms with my hazardous behavior.

“I got my period, and I—”

The woman’s red hair spills over her shoulder as she bows her head to click open her tiny bag. Every piece of her appearance tells a story of elegance. I live in Los Angeles, and celebrities are part of my daily life since I do their nails now, but I’ve never seen a woman like this.

She could be anyone, but she isn’t. I’m sure of it.

Her heels, her high-waist jeans, and her long-sleeved crop top are all in black. She doesn’t have to be anyone significant, but in this moment of need for me, she is. Once the woman fishes out a tampon from her tiny bag, she helps me up.

I shiver at her touch, and she notices, gracing me with a smirk.

“Here,” she says, handing me the tampon. I’ve never seen this brand before, and for a moment, I hesitate to take it. “I’m Kamila, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Grey.”

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