Page 9 of Beautiful Devil

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Loud knocking from somewhere jolts me awake. I reach over and check my phone to see that it's 9:05 a.m. I hear the banging again, followed by a familiar voice.

“Wake your lazy ass up, bitch! I have coffee.”

I jump out of bed and make my way down the hallway. Opening the front door, I find Elle standing with a coffee in one hand, a takeout bag in the other, and a smile plastered on her face. She is such a morning person. How cananyonebe so happy at this time of the day? I need at least one coffee and an hour to myself before I can interact with other humans.

Elle walks past me with a grin while heading inside as I take in her appearance. Wavy blonde hair cascading down around her back and shoulders. A plain white tank top that has sunglasses hanging from the neckline, ripped skinny jeans, and flat sandals that make her only a couple inches taller than me complete the ensemble.

My best friend is a babe.

Stepping over the broken picture frame, I follow her into the kitchen and when I’m within reach, she pulls me into a big bear hug. I wrap my arms around her waist and squeeze, letting out a big breath.

“Better?” she asks as she pulls back and looks me in the eyes.

“Much. Now coffee,” I say, moving around her.

By the time the smell of coffee fills my nose, she’s started opening cabinets and drawers looking for cutlery and a plate for her pancakes.

“So, how did your night of unpacking go?” she asks while dishing herself out breakfast and joining me at the table.

“Smashing,” I reply.

As I take a sip of my coffee, the hot caffeine slips down my throat, releasing those feel-good hormones I desperately need to help me start the day.

I look up and catch Elle staring at me. Trying to suppress the laughter that wants to come out, I lift my mug and take another swig to stop myself as the corners of her mouth start twitching.

“I can see that. What I meant washowdid it end up going so smashingly well?”

“A bottle of wine and a photo of mine and my ex-husband’s wedding day helped the situation,” I say with a sardonic grin on my face.

We sit in silence for a few moments as Elle eats, and I enjoy my coffee while thinking back to last night. I finished the bottle of wine and eventually gathered myself up off the kitchen floor and went to bed.

Unable to sleep, I scrolled through TikTok looking at thirst trap videos of hot, half-naked men, wishing one of them were here to keep me company.

I’m still lost in thought when Elle looks up from her plate and says, “Alright, out with it, bitch.”

“Out with what?” I ask.

Sometimes, she has conversations in her head with me and forgets to verbalize them.

Just as I’m starting to think this is one of those times, she shoots me an annoyed look and says, “Out with how you’re really feeling. You can’t lie to me. I’m your best friend, bitch. I know when you’re hiding something, and right now is one of those times.” She levels me with a glare before continuing. “Are we really going to sit here and pretend that there isn’t a broken picture on the floor or a bottle of Moscato in the recycle bin? Should I start banging pots and pans together to help with what I’m sure is a killer hangover?”

I knew I couldn’t get anything past her. I thought I was doing a good job at covering my hangover, but I guess not. Unconsciously, I reach up to rub my temples because even though I’m not a lightweight, a container of alcohol would give anyone who doesn’t drink more than a glass or two a week a killer headache.

When I glance up, she smirks at me while shoveling another forkful of pancakes in her mouth.

Lowering my hands from my temple, I say, “I’m fine,Elena.”

She drops her fork at that and looks at me like I just stabbed her. Ellehatesher full name. Whenever she was a kid and got into trouble, her parents would yell and sneer her name. They always refused to call her “Elle” instead of “Elena” because they said that was her given name and Elle was just some silly nickname she made up. To this day, she insists on pushing people to call her by her chosen name.

I can count on one hand how many times I’ve called her Elena to her face, and they almost always ended up in her trying to beat the shit out of me. Maybe I’m being cynical in wanting to bring the closest person to me down to my level so she can share in my pain, but I just sit there and stare at her with a blank expression, waiting for the beatdown that I’m about to receive.

Trying to keep her emotions intact, she calmly says, “Alright.I’m giving you a pass because you’re hurting and want to make me hurt too. But that’s your only one.”

She rolls her eyes and continues to eat, all the while mumbling to herself.

Huh.

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