Kill Me (6 page)

Bette chuckled, “I don’t think you need to worry about that. But if you insist we will go for a few hours.”

“I do.” I said, “It’s no big deal, I’ve been drunk before and I feel great, so you don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” Bette soothed, “but you aren’t leaving my side before it is a necessity.”

I wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Thankfully, Bette gave me no chance to think it over. All reason left my brain when she slid down in the bed beside me, tilted my face to hers and kissed me. My sense of time and space hiccupped as I clung to her. My body felt like a live wire, humming with a current that desperately needed grounding.

I squirmed in an attempt to be closer to her, but it did no good. As close as I wanted to be was not physically possible.

More forcefully, she held a handful of my hair in one hand and her other hand latched on to my hip, pulling my body closer. Kissing me again, we lay breast to breast, hip to hip, with legs intertwined.

I was drowning in her and it felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before. A halo of bluish-purple light colored everything I saw. My skin was hypersensitive; the little bits of friction between my skin and hers caused me to twitch with every shift and readjustment.

The knock on the hotel room door came abruptly and I cursed under my breath.

“We will have to finish this later, Clara Mia,” she said kissing me on the forehead.

I whimpered in protest. At that moment, I was not an intelligent adult capable of reason. I was feral, my focus reduced to the most basic human emotions; hunger, desire, and fear.

She left me like that, gasping and clutching the bed sheets as she got up, slipped on her robe and answered the door.

Bette let a man into the suite and I could feel his eyes linger over my naked, heaving body. My nerve endings felt raw, exposed and inflamed by the gentlest of breezes, such as the one created by the closing of the door. Or the draft created as Bette circled the bed, her robe fluttering out behind her like the wings of a Monarch.

She touched down on the bed bedside me.

“Your food Clara, you need to eat now.” Bette said, petting my hair. If she wanted me to focus, that didn’t help in the least. Being near her was distracting enough, but her touch, it was like a de-focusing drug—one that I was fast becoming hooked on.

“Clara, you must eat.” Bette tried again.

My limbs felt full of sand and I struggled to sit up. I looked around the room, but saw no breakfast tray waiting.

“Where’s the food?” I asked. “I hope you ordered me something I like— a bagel, and omelet or pancakes maybe?”

Bette studied me for a long moment, regarding me with curiosity. “I... I didn’t know what you’d like.” She stood and went to the closet, opening the doors wide to survey my wardrobe.

“But,” I started to say, before Bette cut me off. Where was the food she’d promised?

“Give your breakfast order to Guillermo,” she nodded to the man standing beside me, staring at the floor with such intensity it was creepy. “Then you go shower. I will put out clothing for you and then you must eat.”

I pulled the sheet around my body, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with my nakedness, and headed toward the bathroom.

“I’d like a sausage and egg croissant, with a small glass of orange juice and a coke, in a bottle so I can carry it with me.” I said over my shoulder.

It was only after I had the door shut firmly behind me that the fog dispersed completely from my head. Since I’d woken up, I’d been moving, thinking and feeling through a barrier, or a cloak. Present and accounted for, but hearing, seeing and feeling always through an impermeable membrane. Real life, once removed.

I noticed it, but I still wasn’t ready to question why.

Even more than usual, I was confounded by how quirky the human mind can be in times of stress. But that will make more sense later I suppose.

I started the shower, letting the room fog nicely before shedding my sheet and stepping under the spray. It was one of those rain-shower heads, and while attractive, it had little in the way of water pressure. It took me ten minutes to get all the generic shampoo out of me hair, but I didn’t mind.

Anything that kept me in the bathroom longer was fine with me. I didn’t want to think about things I didn’t understand, so instead I focused on what I knew without a doubt.

While washing my hair, I pictured the toothy grin of my daughter and I longed to wrap her in my arms. She was heading to school now, probably already seated on the fading yellow bus, staring out the window as the bus pulled away. If I had to guess, I’d say she was wearing her favorite outfit—pink skirt, white striped shirt, white and pink polka-dot tights and a pair of teal sneakers.

While I lathered my body, I thought of the husband I didn’t know anymore, and how my life would seem half-empty once the space he’d occupied for so long was vacant. It would be like walking on two legs all your life, then suddenly waking up with only one. So what if the missing leg had been arthritic and cranky— you could still stand on it.

I turned my thoughts to business and how I needed to touch base with the office, and drop in on several vendors at the conference. And get my first guitar lesson with Vera.

Would she be able to tell, I thought?

I shook my head. That was the dumbest thing I’d come up with lately. What was I thinking? That there was a blinking (rainbow) sign over my head now? That I’d give off some sort of vibe?

My dorkiness amazed me sometimes.

Of course, all that thinking was aimed at doing one thing, and one thing only—to ignore the fact that there was a woman in my bedroom, or any thoughts that pertained to her and my missing memory or that “thing” that happened earlier.

At least until I ran my fingers over the top of my left thigh. At the fold, that crease at the top of the leg, yet snatch-adjacent, I’d felt something. Like a bump or scab. Not exactly the easiest place to look at oneself; it took me a minute to maneuver my body into a position for inspection.

Finally, one leg resting on the toilet tank right outside the shower, I was able to make out not one, but two tiny healing scabs. In-grown hairs maybe? It was possible, but not likely I’d missed them last night.

I frowned, frustrated that the things I knew were outweighed by the things I didn’t know lately. I turned off the water and stepped out onto the cold tile floor. I dried off quickly, casting a peeved look at the toilet. Maybe I was having kidney problems?

When I exited the bathroom, carefully wrapped in a clean, dry towel, I found the room empty. Bette was gone, but she’d left a silver tray with the things I’d requested sitting on the corner of the bed. Perched atop the silver dome of the tray was a hand-scripted note.

“I have a few matters to attend. Clothes are on the chair, and I hope you find your meal filling. I’ll be back to take you to the convention center within the half-hour - Bette”

With no better plan in mind, I did exactly as she instructed, albeit with a scowl planted across my face.

Chapter 7

Exactly twenty minutes later, I was standing outside of my hotel room when Bette came back for me. It occurred to me, as I watched her practically glide down the carpeted hallway, that I’d felt more like my old self from almost the moment she’d left.

“Clara, you look stunning!” Bette embraced me, kissing me on the mouth. I had no idea if that was an Italian custom, or just what one does after doing pretty intimate things.

Either way, I finally felt the prick of unease that I should have felt, oh, about a million times since yesterday.

“Thanks,” I tried to sound chipper. “You have excellent taste.” Yep, that was me being chipper all right.

Bette motioned for me to twirl so that she could get a good look at me and although I felt silly, I did it anyway. I’d had a mini-moment of clarity while getting dressed. I’d decided that I needed Bette’s help to understand what was going on. So I’d placate her until I’d pieced everything together.

Separate from that, I had to figure how I felt about her on a personal level as well.

That’s why I was wearing the clothing that she’d laid out on the bed for me: a short flared black skirt, a fitted, plum short-sleeve sweater with a deep V-neck, and dangerous midnight blue suede heels. It was something I’d never wear on my own, and I have no idea where the heels came from, but I had to admit that I felt pretty fierce in the getup.

I did an about-face, and caught Bette staring at me with such a fevered look on her face that I stumbled backwards.

“What is wrong? Do you feel weak? Did you not eat your food?” she said, reaching out to me.

“No, I... I just lost my balance.” I recovered quickly.

Bette studied my feet, as if I was going to wobble again. She scrunched her mouth into a partial frown and looked back to me.

“Clara, what is on your legs?”

I looked down, expecting to see an errant sock hitchhiking on my clothes. “What? I don’t see anything?”

“On your legs! Pantyhose. I did not put those out for you Clara.” Bette said, kneeling down in front of me.

“What...” I started to say, but was silenced by Bette sliding her hands up my thighs.

“Out of your shoes, please,” she said.

I relented and kicked off the heels, though I’m not sure if it was because I was trying to keep Bette on my good side, or if wanted to see what see what she would do while down there. Clearly, the fuzzy-headed me had returned.

“Your legs are too nice to be covered up, Clara.” She began to remove the offending garment, her fingers like little feathers as she maneuvered. She brushed my skin in random places, so that I began to anticipate where she would next touch. Heat built up in my core. I could feel my legs trembling.

And then she looked up to me.

Bette’s face was a mixture of hunger and carnal thoughts, with a dash of malice. Her pupils were dilated wide and dark, like two pools of murky ink. But it was her teeth, whiter and sharper looking than I remembered, that snapped me out of the fog I lingered in.

“I...I’ve got ‘em,” I said, stepping away from Bette and removing my pantyhose as quick as possible so that we could get going. Suddenly, I was glad that we were going to be surrounded by hundreds of people for the next several hours.

Bette regarded me with mild shock, before composing herself, standing and saying, “I have a car waiting downstairs. Andiamo, Clara!”

She turned, striding down the hall at a pace that had me semi-running in heels behind her. Thankfully, the elevator ride passed without incident, though I did notice that we didn’t get off at the ground floor. Instead the elevator stopped in the underground parking garage.

The doors parted and a black limo waited just a few steps away. A hulking beast of a man got out of the driver’s door and came to help us into the limo.

“Grazi, Domino,” Bette said, taking his huge lump of a hand as she climbed in the car.

Domino shifted his eyes toward me. I shuddered as I returned his gaze. His eyes were like two raisins shoved into risen dough, and trying not to look away first made me more than a little queasy.

He did not offer me his hand, not that I would have taken it anyway, but that gesture told me I was right. Domino was being openly hostile towards me, which made no sense. I’d never met the man, so how would he know anything about me?

“Come Clara.” Bette’s voice came from within the car.

I mustered up the steeliest expression I could manage, and tossed it back at the driver instead of doing what I really wanted to do— stick my tongue out at him. Though he didn’t move, I saw something flicker in his eyes before he motioned to the open limo door.

Feeling like I had won the game, I climbed in without a backwards glance in his direction. The little encounter had made me irritable, and I dreaded the ten minute ride to the convention center. I seated myself at the opposite end of the passenger area, kicking off my shoes and reclined against the seat. Bette regarded me with curiosity.

“My head is hurting a little. I’m going to relax for a few minutes.”

I didn’t wait for her to respond. I closed my eyes, draping one arm back over my face. The car began to move and for the next ten minutes I remained on alert just in case Bette tried anything. I concentrated so hard, it was almost as if I could see her sitting there, legs and arms crossed while she stared at me. But that was silly really. I didn’t have any comic-book-style superpowers.

The limo pulled into the underground garage at the convention center, which seemed to be off limits to the general public, judging by the smattering of caterer vans and shipping trucks. Bette must be very rich and powerful, to receive special treatment everywhere she went. Of course, with charisma like she had, Bette probably had no need to wield monetary influence over anyone.

The car stopped and the back door swung open, letting in the yellowed light from the garage. Bette motioned for me to exit first. I climbed out despite the overwhelming urge to be difficult. My mood had sure gone downhill in a hurry.

Domino was standing in my path as I stood upright, like a pale side of beef. Did he really want to have another pissing match with me? I could feel myself getting angry. No, that wasn’t the right word. I could feel myself becoming unhinged.

A flare of red light burst behind my eyes, flashing over my field of vision for a split-second.

I thought before I even realized it—
you listen here, you over-glorified hamburger, get out of my way before I rip your friggin’ throat out
— and I’ll admit I was so startled by my own thoughts that I almost missed what happened next.

As I was flipping out internally, Bette had stepped out of the car behind me. I heard her say, “Domino?” in a concerned voice, so I forced myself to look at him.

His puffy face was turning a grayish-blue, and his hands were clutched at his throat. I could hear him trying to breathe and I swear it sounded like someone quietly gargling mouth wash. The agony of his expression snapped me out of my rage and I rushed to Domino as he fell to his knees.