“First, what are you doing that has you huffing and puffing? Second, who has a meeting tonight?” I question, still rummaging around in my kitchen, trying to figure out what I want to eat.
“When you’re fat and pregnant, going to the bathroom is an extreme fucking sport,” she growls, angrily, “and the men have a meeting tonight. Something about missing shipments or something, I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that if that man comes back, and doesn’t bring me some pineapple and French onion dip, I’ll be the one who takes out the Pakhan my damn self.”
I laugh at her knowing that she means every word. That woman grew up the daughter of one of the families, and knows that she could do it, and get away with it.
“Pineapple and French onion dip? That doesn’t sound like anything that a normal person would eat.” I wrinkle my nose just thinking about the combination.
“Well, this child is weird, and likes nasty things. You’re supposed to love us and not judge us as my best friend,” Cara states, and I know she has one hand on her hip.
“Not judging, just trying to understand it.” I promise her. “Well, if the guys are out why don't we get something together? I could go for some queso and chips right now.”
“I would, but Timur said that I need to stay here and let things settle. Before you ask, I have no f’ing clue what that means.” Her words sound muffled, like she's chewing something.
“What in the bloody hell are you eating right now?”
“Just some gummies. Let’s plan to get some lunch in a couple days.” Cara asserts, then continues, “How are you feeling? How's your head?”
“I’m feeling okay. I can’t decide if the headache and nausea is from the injury, or from the fact that I haven’t eaten in a few days,” I confess, being as honest as I possibly can with my best friend.
“Well then, you order yourself some food. I’m going to go pee for the thousandth time and then take a nap. The men shouldn’t be too much longer, I hope,” Cara reveals, as I hear her feet shuffle across her floors.
“You do know that whether or not the guy's meeting takes a long time means nothing to me. Nico and I aren’t anything." The words said aloud are like serrated knives being swallowed, shredding my throat as I state this.
“You’re telling me, that the man that hasn’t left your side for any reason whatsoever over the last few days, means nothing to you? I feel as if you aren't telling me the whole truth, my friend.” Cara laughs… the heifer.
“I don’t know what to tell you. What I do know is that he has been here for me, but I know he will fall back into the shadows again once he knows that I’m okay and don’t need him hovering anymore.” Even to my own ears I sound bitter and annoyed.
“This time is different, I know it,” Cara states, so matter-of-factly, that I want to believe what she says.
“Well, let's not hold our breaths, that way, we don’t pass out or die. Deal?” I sarcastically ask.
“You are such a twat when you’re hangry. Order you some food and I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Cara sing songs before hanging up on me.
Well, that was rude, I internally think, chuckling to myself and at my crazy, best friend. I go through my contact list and hit the number for my favorite Mexican food restaurant. Unable to resist my grumbling belly, I order an extra-large container of queso, the biggest bag of chips they allow, and add a side option of two tacos. They tell me it’s going to be about twenty minutes. With a sigh, I sit on my couch and scroll through it, checking on all the missed calls and messages, from not only Cara, but my mom, my sister, and even a couple of people I work with.
With time to kill, I return several text messages, and decided that at this time, I didn’t want to deal with my family. Especially not my mother, and her outdated demands. Bored, I pull up my TikTok app, and get lost in the time vortex. I’m so preoccupied, and drawn into the drama of others' lives, that a scream escapes my lips when there is a hard knock on the door. Clutching my chest, I stand, going to the door, and lift up on my toes so I can see through the peephole. Seeing that it’s my food, a rushed breath of relief puffs free from my lips. Grabbing the door knob, I open the wooden slab and smile at the same guy that seems to always be the one charged with delivering my takeout orders.
“Thank you so much!” I tell him, realizing that I don’t have cash on me to hand him a tip. “Give me just a second and I’ll get you a tip.”
I turn away from him, going for my purse that is sitting on the small, white, wood table. I dig a few dollars out of my wallet, and turn to hand over the money, and jump when the delivery guy is now standing inside my home. My breathing picks up and my nerves take flight.
I shakily hand over the money. “Thank you, again. I hope you have a nice night.” I go for pleasantries, hoping he’ll get the hint and won’t make this anymore awkward than it already is.
The guy just bows his head, and leaves, without uttering a word to my brush off. Something about the exchanges causes goosebumps to race down my spine. I take the bag over to my counter, and start to dig out the food, my stomach growling fiercely. I start to pull out the bowl of queso when a piece of paper flying from the bag catches my attention.
Only whores have men in their bed.
It better not happen again.
You will be punished and he will be dealt with.
My breathing starts to hasten in quick pants, and my world starts to tilt on its axis. What’s going on? Why would someone do this to me? The memory of being watched over the last few months comes back to mind. The feeling that someone had been in my home, things being shifted around, starts to cause me to shake.
I turn, rushing to the door and locking both the locks, recognizing that it’s a new door and better locks. I rush to grab my phone once I have it. I search for the only name that offers me the slightest amount of safety.
“Da?” he answers.
“Nico,” I whisper, my tone quaky and quiet.
