Page 85 of Open for Negotiation
“I just can’t, Eden. I’ve spent too much of my life righting wrongs, worrying about how I can clean up the wake my actions leave behind. This is my chance to start over again. I have to take it.”
Tightening the towel around my body, I take the phone off of speaker and cradle it between my ear and my shoulder to leave the room and pad down to the living room.
The gasp that leaves my lips when I turn the corner must send Eden into high alert because she immediately recognizes that something is wrong.
“Scar? What’s wrong? Are you all right?” she asks.
Miranda, dressed in jeans and a baggy white T-shirt, is standing in the middle of my living room holding a knife in her hands.
“Hang up the phone,” she whispers. “Lie if you have to.” She adjusts her grip on the knife, now pointing it in my direction.
My entire body is quaking like a leaf. I can’t even process what’s happening or what she’s even asking me to do. Part of me even thinks I could be dreaming.
My eyes dart around, trying to take in as much information as possible. Is she alone? How did she get in? What time is it? What is she wearing?
“Scarlett, hello? Are you okay?” Eden says again in my ear and it snaps me back into the moment.
“Yeah, yes. I’m sorry. My, uh, my feet are still wet and I slipped on the hardwood. I’m fine,” I lie and it feels like razors in my throat with every word.
“Hang up,” Miranda says quietly with wide eyes.
I nod slowly, holding my free hand up in surrender. “Look, Eden, I need to go. I’m going to get dressed and call it a night.” I swallow, trying to keep my tone as calm as possible so I don’t upset a clearly agitated Miranda.
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the airport tomorrow to pick you up. I love you.”
I close my eyes. “I love you too.” I end the call, leaving myself completely alone and at the mercy of the unhinged woman in front of me.
“Sit down,” Miranda demands, using the knife to point at my sofa.
The last thing I want to do is be closer to her, but I need to keep her as calm as possible.
“Miranda, please, I’m in a towel. Let me get dressed and I’ll sit down and we can talk.”
“DON’T talk to me like you know me. You don’t. Now sit the FUCK down,” she shouts, tears filling her eyes.
“Okay, all right, I’m going.”
I move slowly, carefully, not making any sudden motions that could make her more upset than she already is. She steps to the right, giving me room to slip by her and sink to sit on my sofa, right where Maxwell and I shared intimate moments, laughs, and more.
Miranda begins to pace my apartment. She goes over to my kitchen then crosses the living room in front of me, before turning and doing the same all over again.
I have my cell phone clutched in my hands so tightly that my knuckles are white. I don’t want her to notice that it’s in my hands though, so in a quick moment when her eyes drift away from me, I drop it next to my leg between the couch cushions.
I need to talk to her, to see what she wants, why she’s here, even if I’m more scared than I’d like to admit.
“Miranda—”
“Has he fucked you here? In this room?” She waves the knife around, indicating she’s asking about the living room.
“Miranda,” I start again, but she interrupts me, again.
“Answer the question! Has. He. Fucked. You. Here? And don’t lie.”
I take a deep breath and respond as delicately as I can. “We were in a relationship, Miranda. Yes, we were intimate here.”
She laughs and the sound sends chills up my spine. “I don’t understand. I don’t fucking understand.”
“What don’t you understand? Miranda, you’re in my house, uninvited, with a knife. I’m scared right now and I’m confused. Please tell me what you want or need and I’ll help you.”
