I picked up the spade, turning it in my hand and looking at the sharp ends. Maybe I can get some more flowers, the rare type. But then I had no more space to plant them and I wanted that patch of grass to sit down and relax. Maybe I can put in a proper seat.
I started digging a hole near the orchid, letting my anger out at the world. I can’t believe he didn’t remember my name. It was a name, and it wasn’t a hard name. It was three syllables. Instead, he replaced it with a weirder ‘name’ that was five syllables.
I looked up to his window to mutter some curses at him but instead saw the curtain move and my hand stabbing the ground stopped.
Was he watching me?
I met his malachite green eyes and he turned to leave and I stared at the window for a few more seconds.
What if Margaret was right and he was going to yell at me for being outside and redoing his garden without his permission? I shuddered thinking of it.
If he was normally that cold and scary, I couldn't even begin to imagine him when he was angry.
I looked back at the orchids, sighing. No, I shouldn’t let him scare me. I was going to stand up for myself, well, maybe in a while.
"I guess this is goodbye for now. Hurry up and grow, my babies," I whispered. I bent down kissing the plant and stood up gathering my stuff.
Margaret was waiting outside with a wet towel for me to wipe my hands on. She shook her head as she watched me and I looked at her.
"You cut yourself again, dearie," she said, handing me a wet towel. She led me to the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit.
"I didn't."
She grabbed my right hand and my finger next to my thumb and I gasped. Oh yes, I seemed to have pricked myself.
I let out a nervous laugh; wiping it on my jeans and earning another nasty stare from her.
"It's nothing, just a prick, probably from the roses," I said.
"It can get infected," she said, taking out rubbing alcohol from the cupboard.
Oh no, she didn't.
"It's fine. It’s just a cut, you know. Small, tiny, puny,” I replied, running out of synonyms and stepping back.
"If you get sick, he will be furious knowing I did nothing. Stand still.”
I scoffed. Oh yes, he would be so sad that his beloved wife, whose name he doesn’t remember, got cut. Maybe I could let this blood drop and wish something. If it worked for Snow White’s mother, it should work for me. Or did I have to get pricked by a red rose and be on the second floor of a building?
Margaret took my distraction and placed the swab on my hand and I snarled, cursing in a very un-lady like manner. And thanks to perfect timing, he had to just walk in at that time, giving me a strange look. Maybe it was because I yelled out “Apple fucking minestrone” out.
It was fine being weird, but then I had my swear words, which were just as weird.
I looked back to meet his stare. I wasn’t going to appear weak. I was the queen of stare downs.
"Margaret, take all calls for me. I have to run an errand," he said. Margaret put down the band-aid and nodded. I took this time to escape as he spoke to her, more like giving her commanding instructions. I suddenly felt sorry for her. She had to put up with him all the time.
Errand, my arse. Probably off to see his model girlfriend or something. It was possible. It happened before. I was replaced like that and James wasn’t even attractive. So I can only imagine how many strings of girls Darius left behind with both his not good looking looks and money.
I walked up the stairs, quickly sucking on my finger that tasted quite bitter. Oh right, rubbing alcohol. I grabbed my phone off the bedside table and opened up Rose's contact number. I sent a silent prayer that she wasn’t at work and sent her a message.
Wanna meet up and have fun like 1984?
I messaged her, joking about the novel we had to read during school, brilliant novel, as I laid on my bed till the familiar message tone came back.
Betty's in five?
I smiled, getting up. I walked over to my wardrobe and grabbed a hat and sunglasses and put them on so I wouldn’t run into someone I knew who would run back and complain to my mother.
I should have done this six months ago.
Chapter Four
Six Months Ago
I walked downstairs dressed in my pajamas and feeling warm and comfortable. All I needed was a tub of ice cream and I wouldn’t even get out of bed even if you gave me a million dollars.
I walked toward the private parlor where my parents probably were talking. Even if my mother disapproved of my choice of nightwear, I was going to wear it. I was sick of her meddling with my life. She didn’t have one kind bone in her body. Plus, who can resist such comfortable clothes?
I opened the door cautiously and entered the room, feeling both pairs of eyes on me.
My father gave me a strained smile, beckoning me over to the couch while my mother stared at me, probably judging my outfit as she stood near the fireplace. But this was no new story.
"Come in, Ivory, sit here."