Page 17 of Mara
Nonjudgmental as he was, or maybe just as much of an attention whore as I was, Cheese crawled up my scrubs and perched around my neck on his spot.
I plopped on the couch and fed him his little treats while telling him about my hellish day.
“So you see, Cheese?” I continued, my story dramatized and skirting over a few things not safe for his ferret ears.
“I am the victim here.”
He chittered at me, and I rubbed his belly, taking that as his agreement to my statement.
“He’s stupidly fucking hot. I mean, what is Gigi thinking? BoneHead is a biker, too. That automatically adds him to the asshole list. Show me a biker who isn’t.”
That wasn’t true. I knew a ton of bikers who were not in fact assholes, but that negated my story.
“You think I’m doing Gigi a favor, don’t you?”
Cheese tilted his head at me, not chittering in response. The belly rubs and treats had worn off, and now he was against me, too.
“Traitor,” I hissed at him, watching his fluffball ass hop into the other room with a full belly and a thoroughly scratched one at that.
I sighed and leaned back onto the couch.
When did I become such a whore?
My phone was a busted mess, my self-esteem and guilt were at an all-time high, and I was just a bona fide mess.
A knock on the door triggered my alarm system, and I jolted, not expecting a visitor so late at night.
I padded over to the door and peeped through the hole.
It was a teen holding some kind of package.
Frowning, I opened the door and waited for the kid to speak.
“Hi, Ms. Abara?”
I nodded.
The boy smiled and handed me the package.
“Who’s it from?”
The guy shrugged and walked away before I could question him further. The package wasn’t too big, about the size of a smallpicture frame. I frowned, thinking it best not to shake the box in case it exploded in glitter or some shit.
“What the fuck is this, Cheese? Should we open it?”
My companion chewed on his foot, ignoring me.
I set the package down on my kitchen’s island bar. I didn’t know who it was from or what it could be, but an eerie feeling washed over me.
I couldn’t understand why.
Fear, like I had never experienced, cemented into my blood, like an omen warning me away from the box.
Ignoring my better judgment, I let my curiosity get the better of me. Yanking off the packaging like a bomb was inside, I slammed my eyes shut and waited to blow up. When that didn’t happen, I slowly opened my eyes and looked inside. The box was empty. Realizing I had chucked the lid off in my haste, I looked down at my feet. On the ground was a single flower—a marigold.
What the fuck does a marigold symbolize?
Who would send me one single flower?
