I turn to the gold trimmed mirror, glaring at myself.
The stupid girl who can’t stand the thought of letting go of the three she’s pushing away.
Oh, the irony behind the change of events.
I grab my backpack from the floor and drag it out with me, squaring my shoulders when I hit the last step.
Collins spins around, doing a double take. “What the fuck?”
He takes in the dark purple cashmere sweater dress he picked out, now cut down the sides and loosely tied back together to show my black tank underneath. His eyes fall to the ‘stockings’ he bought, now with strategically placed holes at the left outer and right upper thigh, disappearing under the material.
It’s also missing a few inches at the bottom now.
I didn’t curl my hair like he was hoping, but I did pull it back in a tight ponytail – only because it kept getting stuck to the fucking material.
He dared to ask me to cut off the blue tips, and I kindly told him to fuck off.
“That was a four-hundred-dollar dress.” He glares.
“That I told you not to buy. Besides, that’s chump change to you, right?”
He gets in my face. “I need you to look the fucking part. You agreed to this.”
“These people piss Armani and puke fucking Prada. They’ll smell a fucking foul ten miles away.”
I shake my head and move past him, but he grips my elbow and I jerk around, yanking free.
“I should let your punk ass make a fool of yourself!” I seethe.
His features tighten in question and I shake my head.
“Are you so unaware, you honestly think changing me to fit you will be convincing? That they’ll praise you or be jealous? Because they won’t. I may have agreed to all this to keep your rat bastard mouth shut, but don’t think for a fucking second, you’ve got it all figured out. Those boys? They know me.”
“Yeah, clearly they all do,” he tries to get in a dig, referring to the video.
I hold my head high and shrug. “Yeah, you’re right. All fucking three dropped to their knees ... for me. Thanks for reiterating my fucking point. They know me. They know how I think, what I need and when, and yeah, how I fucking like to be touched – completely irrelevant right now, but still true, dick. I’m not hiding that. I don’t need to, Collins, because the only people I give a shit about didn’t judge me for needing, and yeah, enjoying something they gave me. This is all about keeping people from finding out we were in your cabin while you partied only feet away, none the fucking wiser.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you,” I throw right back. “It’s like I said, they know me, and if I show up there only days after being at their side, now at yours, wearing a fucking dress and flats with curls in my hair and smile on my face, looking like another carbon copy of the basic bitches you’re used to, you’ll be eating cement quicker than you can say concede.”
“I’d never concede.”
“And I’d never conform,” I spit. “You want this believable, let me be me, because I’d never be anyone else for any-fucking-body. I may now be the untrustworthy bitch in their eyes, but they are far from dumb. Give them the credit they deserve. You’re only making a sucker of yourself if you don’t.”
I don’t bother waiting for a reply but turn and head for his little bitch car and slide inside.
He’s in his seat in the next few seconds. “At least you attempted to hide the bags under your eyes.”
Asshole.
I bounce on my feet and shake my body out, only to step in again for another combo.
The chain clashes against the beam, the punching bag bounding against my gloveless hands, the cracks at my knuckles ripping deeper, the blood trickling down my forearms and onto the rubber mat beneath my feet.
I keep going – one, two, uppercut. Left, right, kidney shot.
His cheek, his jaw, his fucking temple. Lights out, bitch.
My right knuckle splits completely open, and I clench my jaw, wrapping my arms around the punching bag to catch my breath.
I can’t fucking believe this shit.
Three damn days without seeing her and it feels like three damn years. Why or how we agreed to stay sitting fucking ducks, I have no idea.
It’s fucking torture.
“You ‘bout done, boy?”
My chin drops to my chest and my arms fall to my sides. I swing my glare toward the door, knowing my brothers are standing right behind her.
Really, fuckers?
“Nuh-uh, child,” Maybell reprimands and moves forward with a first aid kit. “Don’t be lookin’ at them like that. They did right, calling me. You look as bad as you did when you found out the green Power Ranger was leaving the show.”
I crack a smile despite my shitty mood and my brothers chuckle behind her.
She smiles faintly, then waves her hand over her shoulder, signaling for Royce and Captain to shuffle into the room.
“Got some work done, I see.” She looks pointedly at the tattoo on my left pec, following the trail that wraps over my shoulder blade. It’s only half done – ten fucking hours in the chair. I had to pass the time somehow.
“I did. I just took the wrapping off last night.”
She winks and we all move to sit.
Maybell kneels in front of me and starts working on my hand with peroxide.
“So.” She peers up with an eyebrow raised. “She’s gone.”
“You heard he put Collins Graven at Brayshaw?” I ask even though I know the answer.
“I did.”
“You hear she left with him day one?”
Her hands pause their movements and I cut a quick glance at my brothers. They caught it too.
She didn’t know.
Our dad’s known to tell her everything, almost always before us, so, why would he keep this from her?
“Your father is a smart man,” she answers the question I didn’t have to ask. “If he’s being choosy about the information he shares, there is a reason. Believe that.”
“We do,” Captain tells her, but then shifts to frown out the window. “Problem is we didn’t expect this, and it doesn’t feel right. She’s not ... it just doesn’t feel right.” He licks his lips and stands, moving to the other side of the room.