Risqué by Elena M. Reyes
22
“Socks. I need socks,” I grumble under my breath, heading toward my small laundry room. I’ve done nothing but wash, fold, and arrange for the last two days—since getting the news— and my closet has never been so clean. I’m not a neat freak or anal over what goes where, but right now, I rival professional organizers. “Socks. Must get socks.”
This is a coping mechanism, a way to distract myself from the inevitable. I know this. I’m not unaware of my faults and the role I play in this mess.
I’m leaving.
I’m doing this, even though every fiber of my being hates it.
I’ve lied to my friend. I have no choice but to lie to him, a phone call I’m dreading.
“Today.” I’ll call him today and just get this over with.
In a small way, I find reprieve in our long-distance relationship. The weeks without him near have made the lies a little easier to say—the phone calls and video-chats hide more than just a person’s true feelings. He didn’t see my reaction after having no contact with my family for months. He didn’t see how physically sick I became after the instructions were delivered.
A knock on the door of my small office at the women’s home makes me look up from the new software I’m thinking of adding to our budget. It’s nothing fancy or difficult to navigate, but definitely one you need if looking to land any office job.
“Can I help you?” The man standing there looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t pinpoint him.
“Miss Rubens?” he asks, voice rough as if he’s smoked his entire life.
“That’s me.” Discreetly, I bring a hand to my waist and the new bottle of pepper spray there. It’s a new brand and promises near blindness upon contact. “And again. How can I help you?”
In his hand he holds a stapled sheet of paper and envelope. “I’m here to deliver this. Can you please sign for me?”
“Sure.” I’m not expecting anything, and he just doesn’t fit the bill of a courier. This man is in a cheap suit and is wearing too much cheap cologne. His hair is slicked back and face unshaven. “What is it?”
“It’s from Governor Rubens’s office.” Five words that ruin my day. My stomach plummets and hands begin to sweat as he brings the envelope over.
I thought he was leaving me alone. I thought I was free.
Hastily, I sign my name, the man leaves, and I’m stuck with the manila bomb sitting atop the desk.
Just get it over with. Tearing into the package, I’m greeted by the sight of airplane tickets, a fake itinerary, and a note that says:
My beautiful daughter,
You work too hard and deserve a break.
There’s more to life than the hustle and bustle of an office or school, Aliana. Please accept this early birthday present from your mother and no complaining, sweetheart. It’s done, and we’ve booked you an all-inclusive package with six days of fun in the sun and relaxation.
You leave in five days!
Have fun,
Your, loving parents.
But worse than that is the picture I find folded within the itinerary of my father with an arm thrown over my brother’s shoulders. A knot forms in my throat. This is a silent threat. The picture depicts a loving family, a dad and his two boys, but I see the evil in his eyes. I take in the way my brothers are tense and…
The ringing of my cell in another room pulls me from those depressive thoughts—how easily they use and manipulate me while always saving face for the public. To an outsider, they seem like loving, caring, and generous parents. Doting and sweet, but I know better, and my father does everything in a way that saves his own behind.
He’ll gamble mine, but never his. He’ll hurt them to make me bend.
Rushing out, I toss my basket atop the dryer. It’s Aurora’s ringtone and I manage to pick up on the fourth ring, slightly out of breath and stomach in knots. “Yolo!” I half wheeze, half chuckle. “You back to the land of the living?”
“I am,” she laughs, whatever music she’d been listening to dimming down a bit. She’s been a bit under the weather the last few days, not coming into the Conte House. Thank God it’s been manageable, the women who’ve been there the longest stepping up to help the newbies acclimate to the rules and daily routine.
Everyone has a chore or job: from cooking, to cleaning, to daycare, and that has nothing to do with the classes we offer. And while most don’t like the tight structure at first, they love it soon enough when it cements bonds with those around them. Friendships. Understanding.
They no longer feel alone or misunderstood.
“I’ll be back in the office tomorrow. We need to go over the new class schedule before you leave, and that software you mentioned. Sorry about that, by the way. This bug came out of nowhere.”
“Only you would apologize for being sick.”
“Shut up.” Roe snorts, then smacks her lips as if tasting something sour. “God, this stuff is awful.”
“What are you eating?”
“Drinking.” A groan of disgust comes through the line. A little gagging. “Kombucha is just not for me. Dear Lord, just say no.”
“Who told you to put that in your mouth?” I’ve had that experience. That’s one of those drinks that you either love or hate, and there is no in between. I get that the benefits outweigh the taste, but I’m a chicken and avoid it at all costs. “You should know better.”
“Just a friend.” The way she says friend makes me smirk. Why are you hiding him, doofus?
“Does this ‘friend’ have a name?”
“The person does, but my lips are sealed.”
“Why is that?” A text comes in, the small device in my hand vibrating. I pull back to look, and a smile stretches across my lips.
We’re going on a vacation soon. Just you and me. ~Callum J.
I’m not thinking of Aurora when I begin to type, ignoring her voice in the background.
Where to? Somewhere sunny and with a private beach I can skinny dip in? ~Venus
A few moments after I hit send, two things happen at the same time...
Aurora’s face greets me through the FaceTime setting, switching over without me knowing.
Callum texts back, and I open it like an idiot, face flaming red when I’m greeted by a glistening-from-the-shower, thick cock.
My mouth waters. Her eyes narrow.
“You’re hiding something,” Roe sings, arching a brow from her kitchen, the phone propped up against something. But more importantly, that look is daring me to deny her. Funny, she says I’m a dog with a bone when I want to know something, and yet, I’ve left her alone. I’ve been too busy losing myself in Callum. “Spill.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Matching her stare, I mock-glare. “So, what does that make you?”
“Too nosy for her own good when I’ve been a shitty friend lately.” Her voice is contrite and face sheepish—sad. It’s not what I expected either, nor is it right. She has no reason to feel like this. Not at all.
“Stop it, chica,” I say, flicking the camera as if it were her head. “You’ve done nothing to feel like that. We’ve been busy and life is a hormonal bitch at the moment, but a shitty friend you are not.”
“Feels that way.”
“Then so am I, if you look at it from that perspective. I should be burned at the stake.”
Aurora rolls her eyes. “Always need to one up me. So extra.”
“Who else will keep you in check?” Taking the device with me, I make my way back to the laundry room and lean it against the large detergent pod container. “But if you want to make it up to me...”
She snorts, the tightness around her eyes disappearing. “Lunch tomorrow?”
“Yup. I’m in the mood for Thai.”
“Done.” While I pull out my small load, she takes another sip of her fermented drink, grimacing after she swallows. “By the way, where are you guys going this time? Did the governor tell you, or does he just expect you to show up?”
“What do you think?”
“The latter.”
“Word.” With my hip, I close the dryer and walk out with her lying atop my clean ankle socks. “That’s how the dependable man of the people always behaves. We are his sheep.”
“He’s so much like my father. Exhausting.”
“How is dear Papa Cancio?” My luggage is atop the bed, empty, but there. I have my clothes all in piles and separated by types. I’d rather go on vacation with Callum. “Is he still expecting you to take over?”
“He is.”
“And?” I ask, looking back at the screen to find her head tilted, studying me. “What?”
“You can’t hide your emotions, Ali. Not from me.”
“Why do you say that?” My voice comes out an octave higher. My hands are a little shaky and I dig them into the laundry, pretending to be looking for something.
“Maybe it’s because in the span of this conversation, you’ve gone from smiling and blushing to sadness and then a one-eighty into irritation, only to turn back around and end at longing.”
“You’re seeing something that isn’t there.”
“Or something’s going on with you.” She taps her lips with her middle finger, and I can’t help but snort. So immature, but it does help loosen a bit of my tension. “Something you don’t want to share.”
“Like you and mystery man?”
“Do you have one of your own? Because I know you, Rubens, and you’re being weirder than normal.”
“And if I do?” Better to give her something than continue evading. This way, she understands. “What if it’s really new and I’m just feeling him out? What if he’s knocked me on my butt, but I’m not ready for the intros and—”
My best friend holds up her hands. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
“I do.” For a beat, we’re both silent but then she sighs, and I scrunch up my face in question. “I’m being an ass when you’ve been patient with me...aren’t I? It’s not like I’m sharing.”
“No. You’re not, but I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“And I’ll do the same.”
“Deal.”