Page 40 of Roma King
So, so pale. Sarah looks like she’s seen a damn ghost. “Are you sure? She actually said he was her son?”
I cast my mind back, double checking, making sure that memory is holding true. “Yes. I’m sure.” Sarah slumps down into her chair again—I don’t think her legs would have held her up a moment longer if she hadn’t. “What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?” Because something is obviously very wrong.
She takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring; her eyes are vacant, staring down at the floor, seeing nothing. “If Shelta had a son,” she says under her breath, “then that changes things. That changeseverything.”
15
ZARA
THE ITCH
“The ungrateful shit needs to leave. I caught him fucking some girl in my bed on Sunday. Christ knows what they were doing but there was blood everywhere.”
I recoil from Andrew’s words, shocked that he would even say them out loud. Garrett’s cheeks turn bright red, and Waylon wobbles, damn near falling off his barstool. The three of us exchange mortified glances as we drink deep from our rocks glasses. When I’d stopped by Sarah’s apartment to collect her for our regular Tuesday late night drinking session, she’d said she had a migraine and was going to get an early night. Good thing, too, because she would have just spat her Balvenie all over the place.
Behind the bar, Henry slaps his hands down on the bar, violently shaking his head. “Jesus, Drew. Good thing the place’s closed. Half the bar would have heard that. The girl was probably on the rag or something.”
Andrew scratches at his jaw. “Don’t be stupid. They wouldn’t have been having sex if she was…you know.Menstruating.”
We all look at him now. We all raise our eyebrows. “And why not?” Henry asks.
Flustered, Andrew fidgets, loosening his tie a little. “Well. She wouldn’t be able to, would she.”
Garrett’s eyes bore into the sticky, beer-soaked tiles at his feet as if he’s wishing that they would crack, the ground would open up beneath them, and he would promptly be swallowed up, never to be seen again. Waylon frowns so deeply, the lines in his forehead look like they’ll be permanent. “You’re kidding right?” he says.
“What?”
“Why wouldn’t she be able to fuck if she was on her period?”
“Physically impossible.” Andrew’s deadpan as he says this. Sounds like he really believes it to be true.
Waylon’s howls of laughter flood the empty bar. “For real? What, you think a woman’s pussy just seals itself up for a week out of every month?”
Andrew’s never liked being made fun of. He clears his throat, his mouth working as he peers into the bottom of his glass. “Something like that.”
“Then how does the blood get out?”
Andrew looks at me pleadingly. “Tell them, Zara.”
Oh god. I donotwant to be part of this conversation. It’s pretty unbelievable that Drew’s so misinformed about women’s biology, though. I give him an apologetic smile, open my mouth, and—
“Oh,it’s very possible to fuck a girl when she’s on her period.”
Waylon, Garrett, and Andrew all look over my shoulder in unison, surprised by the sound of the voice that comes from one of the darkened booths to our right.
Oh…my…shitting… fuck.
That voice.
Honey, and rough whiskey, and fire, and smoke.
It can’t be, though. My ears are playing tricks on me.
My heartrate rises as I swivel around on my bar stool, peering into the booth that I had assumed was unoccupied when I arrived here thirty minutes ago and sat myself down with my friends.
Aaaaaand…
…fuck.
