Sweet Venom
Page 33
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Is it just a coincidence that all of this is happening right at the time when Ursula disappeared? Or when Grace and Nick show up?
I’m pretty sure Nick is more than he seems. When the beastie’s scorpion tail was about to spear me, it was almost as if he saw it coming. It shouldn’t be possible—just like he shouldn’t be immune to my hypnosis—but if he hadn’t warned me, I’d be Gretchen-on-a-skewer right now, instead of sitting here, confused, in the dark.
This is getting to be too much. There are so many questions and I don’t have any answers. I’m the huntress, the hired gun who fights the creatures that go bump in the night and then reports in to the boss. Only the job isn’t that simple anymore and the boss is MIA. What am I supposed to do?
I throw my head back against the seat and ask the heavens, “Okay Ursula, where are you when I really need you?”
Standing outside Ursula’s door, I know there’s no other choice. She’s been gone for too long and things have gone too sideways for me to keep pretending her disappearance is normal.
Still, I hesitate as I reach for the doorknob. One of the things I love most about living with Ursula is the freedom. The autonomy. She doesn’t question when I go out late at night or whether I’ve done my homework or if my room is clean. She trusts that I take care of business, that I’m mindful of my duties and responsibilities. She lets me have however much privacy I need, and she gets her own privacy in return.
Which only makes me feel worse for what I’m about to do.
“I have to.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob and push open the door. It swings open silently, revealing a pristine room that hasn’t been touched for days.
Her bedroom is in the corner of the loft, so she has windows along two walls, with a sliding glass door in the middle of one, leading onto the balcony. Sleek white built-in drawers line the third wall, while her bed is pushed up against the wall with the door. The stark platform number, covered with steely gray sheets and pillows, is perfectly made. There is a full glass of water on the nightstand, next to a book with an ancient Greek statue on the cover.
It feels like an invasion to be in here without her permission.
“I don’t have a choice.”
I take a quick breath and then begin the search.
Starting with the drawers, I pull open each one and sift through the contents. Lots of soft and flowing clothes in elegant neutrals, like camel and ivory. Ursula always looks soft and elegant, in sharp contrast to my dark and hard wardrobe. As I process each drawer, I make sure to leave it just as neat and organized as I found it. Ursula’s gone, but that doesn’t mean I get a free pass to mess up her stuff.
I slide the final drawer shut and turn to evaluate the rest of the room. The only other furniture is the bed and nightstand.
Dropping to the floor, I peer under the bed frame. Nothing but empty space. A clear view over the flat carpet to the balcony on the other side.
I quickly flip back the bedding, checking under the comforter and the pillows. Nothing.
Same thing under the lamp and the book on the nightstand. With only one place left to look, I tug open the nightstand drawer.
Inside, in a neatly organized drawer divider, are Ursula’s essentials. Lip balm, nail file, reading glasses. A tube of her lemongrass lotion. No note.
I grab the lotion, twist off the top, and squeeze a tiny drop onto the back of my hand. As I rub the silky lotion into my skin, I’m overwhelmed by the scent memory.
She smelled just like this that night four years ago when she first brought me back to the loft. I was scared out of my mind, afraid to trust this woman who seemed to know things about me and my history that no one should know, but even more afraid to go back to the street life I’d been living since I’d run away.
“Welcome home, Gretchen,” she said, gesturing one arm in a wide circle, sweeping over the sparkling surfaces and furniture of the loft.
Home? My whole life, I’d only ever had two homes. The filth hole of dirty clothes and broken junk where Phil and Barb slept and the abandoned warehouse where Ursula found me. As much as I hated both, I belonged in both of those more than I belonged here. With my ratty clothes and filthy hair, I shouldn’t even have stepped inside somewhere as gleamingly pristine as this heavenly space.
“I—”
I couldn’t say it. As much as knew I didn’t belong here, I wanted to even more.
“Come,” Ursula said. “Let me give you the tour.”
As I followed her around from room to room—a training gym, a library, a kitchen with a refrigerator full of fresh, delicious-looking food—I found myself inching closer and closer to her side. As her fresh scent of lemongrass enveloped me, I found myself hoping I could belong here someday. Wanting to be good enough for a place like this.
“And here,” she said, leading me to the final unopened door, “is your room.”
The door swung wide, revealing a place I had only dreamed about before. There was a big bed with fluffy bedding, a tall dresser, a closet full of fresh, clean clothes.
“Go on,” Ursula said, urging me forward. “Look around.”
“I c-can’t,” I’d stammered. “It’s too—” I bit my lip and shook my head, unable to finish.
“It’s yours,” she insisted, pushing gently on my back until I stepped inside.
A bed of my own. A whole room, without a stack of dirty laundry or torn upholstery or broken floorboard in sight. The opposite of everything I’d ever had.
I’m pretty sure Nick is more than he seems. When the beastie’s scorpion tail was about to spear me, it was almost as if he saw it coming. It shouldn’t be possible—just like he shouldn’t be immune to my hypnosis—but if he hadn’t warned me, I’d be Gretchen-on-a-skewer right now, instead of sitting here, confused, in the dark.
This is getting to be too much. There are so many questions and I don’t have any answers. I’m the huntress, the hired gun who fights the creatures that go bump in the night and then reports in to the boss. Only the job isn’t that simple anymore and the boss is MIA. What am I supposed to do?
I throw my head back against the seat and ask the heavens, “Okay Ursula, where are you when I really need you?”
Standing outside Ursula’s door, I know there’s no other choice. She’s been gone for too long and things have gone too sideways for me to keep pretending her disappearance is normal.
Still, I hesitate as I reach for the doorknob. One of the things I love most about living with Ursula is the freedom. The autonomy. She doesn’t question when I go out late at night or whether I’ve done my homework or if my room is clean. She trusts that I take care of business, that I’m mindful of my duties and responsibilities. She lets me have however much privacy I need, and she gets her own privacy in return.
Which only makes me feel worse for what I’m about to do.
“I have to.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob and push open the door. It swings open silently, revealing a pristine room that hasn’t been touched for days.
Her bedroom is in the corner of the loft, so she has windows along two walls, with a sliding glass door in the middle of one, leading onto the balcony. Sleek white built-in drawers line the third wall, while her bed is pushed up against the wall with the door. The stark platform number, covered with steely gray sheets and pillows, is perfectly made. There is a full glass of water on the nightstand, next to a book with an ancient Greek statue on the cover.
It feels like an invasion to be in here without her permission.
“I don’t have a choice.”
I take a quick breath and then begin the search.
Starting with the drawers, I pull open each one and sift through the contents. Lots of soft and flowing clothes in elegant neutrals, like camel and ivory. Ursula always looks soft and elegant, in sharp contrast to my dark and hard wardrobe. As I process each drawer, I make sure to leave it just as neat and organized as I found it. Ursula’s gone, but that doesn’t mean I get a free pass to mess up her stuff.
I slide the final drawer shut and turn to evaluate the rest of the room. The only other furniture is the bed and nightstand.
Dropping to the floor, I peer under the bed frame. Nothing but empty space. A clear view over the flat carpet to the balcony on the other side.
I quickly flip back the bedding, checking under the comforter and the pillows. Nothing.
Same thing under the lamp and the book on the nightstand. With only one place left to look, I tug open the nightstand drawer.
Inside, in a neatly organized drawer divider, are Ursula’s essentials. Lip balm, nail file, reading glasses. A tube of her lemongrass lotion. No note.
I grab the lotion, twist off the top, and squeeze a tiny drop onto the back of my hand. As I rub the silky lotion into my skin, I’m overwhelmed by the scent memory.
She smelled just like this that night four years ago when she first brought me back to the loft. I was scared out of my mind, afraid to trust this woman who seemed to know things about me and my history that no one should know, but even more afraid to go back to the street life I’d been living since I’d run away.
“Welcome home, Gretchen,” she said, gesturing one arm in a wide circle, sweeping over the sparkling surfaces and furniture of the loft.
Home? My whole life, I’d only ever had two homes. The filth hole of dirty clothes and broken junk where Phil and Barb slept and the abandoned warehouse where Ursula found me. As much as I hated both, I belonged in both of those more than I belonged here. With my ratty clothes and filthy hair, I shouldn’t even have stepped inside somewhere as gleamingly pristine as this heavenly space.
“I—”
I couldn’t say it. As much as knew I didn’t belong here, I wanted to even more.
“Come,” Ursula said. “Let me give you the tour.”
As I followed her around from room to room—a training gym, a library, a kitchen with a refrigerator full of fresh, delicious-looking food—I found myself inching closer and closer to her side. As her fresh scent of lemongrass enveloped me, I found myself hoping I could belong here someday. Wanting to be good enough for a place like this.
“And here,” she said, leading me to the final unopened door, “is your room.”
The door swung wide, revealing a place I had only dreamed about before. There was a big bed with fluffy bedding, a tall dresser, a closet full of fresh, clean clothes.
“Go on,” Ursula said, urging me forward. “Look around.”
“I c-can’t,” I’d stammered. “It’s too—” I bit my lip and shook my head, unable to finish.
“It’s yours,” she insisted, pushing gently on my back until I stepped inside.
A bed of my own. A whole room, without a stack of dirty laundry or torn upholstery or broken floorboard in sight. The opposite of everything I’d ever had.
