Page 23 of Little Sunshine

I shot her an impatient stare. “I’m supposed to believe you broke in and stole my money, but the missing TV has nothing to do with you?”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Crossing her arms, she truly looked insulted. “I just… borrowed the money. And I didn’t break in. Your nice landlord let me in so I could wait for you. To explain and avoid this,” she said, gesturing around. “But then I had to leave before you got home.” It was her turn to give me the stare that said she thought I was a moron. “You think I’m gonna lug that cheap TV down the stairs?” She held out a hand to show off her long acrylics. “It would cost more to fix a broken nail than that piece of shit is worth.”

She wasn’t wrong.

However, if she didn’t take it…

Oh God. Someone was in my apartment.

And I strolled right in.

The fact I wasn’t immediately butchered is a miracle.

Taking in the self-righteous way Veronica lifted her chin in that small victory, I forced a sugary-sweet smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry for accusing you of stealing my TV. Now if you’ll just return my whole fucking paycheck and the cash that you did steal, I’ll be on my way.”

Her face fell as she grudgingly admitted, “I don’t have it.”

Even if it’s what I’d expected, the confirmation made the ground beneath me bottom out. The thread of hope I’d been desperately clinging to went up in a burst of fire, leaving me to fall.

To hit rock bottom.

Before I could speak—or shout the whole neighborhood down—I took a moment to inhale deeply. To try to get control of my rage and fear and the anxiety that was lodged in my throat, choking me.

I don’t make scenes.

I never make scenes.

That’s Veronica’s thing.

She’s already pushing me down to save herself. I refuse to help by lowering myself to her level.

A tiny bit of clarity and calm started to grow in my brain.

Or maybe it was rage suppression that would turn into an aneurysm to kill me.

Either way.

I’d said my piece. More than that, I’d stood up for myself—something I rarely did when it came to Veronica.

It may not have been the return of my money, but it was enough.

“You’ll be fine, hun,” Veronica said. “You’ve always been responsible.”

She didn’t mean it in a good way. In her world, responsibilities were a boring killjoy. But I took it as a compliment anyway.

Wow, this is rare. Ending an interaction with Veronica on a high note.

But that would’ve been too easy. Too good. Veronica had to go and ruin it. Because of fucking course she did.

With a dismissive wave, she rolled her eyes and continued. “There’s no reason to get your panties in a twist. It was just one paycheck, Camila, and not a very big one?—”

The warmth her—albeit backhanded—compliment had created turned to acidic fire, and I saw red. Rather than anxiety choking me, it was rage that stole my breath as it tightened my chest until I vibrated with it.

“It wasn’t one paycheck,” I cut her off, my volume growing with each word. “It was my last paycheck because you got me fucking fired.”

She winced.

Not with guilt or shame.

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