Chapter 33 - Bee

Behind every successful woman is a crazy best friend who always has her back.

~ Mac, the sister from another mister

“For Pete’s sake, girlfriend. Pull yourself together, this is embarrassing.”

Mac stood in front of me, and I had to stretch to one side to see the TV behind her. I’m not sure why she thought this was embarrassing. I wasn’t embarrassed, and nobody could see me but her. I was dressed . . . kinda. In a too-big button up shirt of Austin’s I had asked her to steal, knee high Ugg boots, and a messy knot of hair on my head. I was perfectly presentable. I even had underwear on!

“I think I look sexy, bedroom sexy,” I confessed, taking another sour Warhead jelly bean from the small bag in my lap.

“Who in the fu . . . firetruck are you trying to look bedroom sexy for?”

I squinted at her while chewing on my candy. She had come so close to cursing. She had been a few vowels away from owing me a decade’s worth of foot massages.

“Lamos might come over.” I said the first name that came to mind.

Mac laughed. She laughed so hard she ended up on her knees hunched over with tears falling down her cheeks. I didn’t appreciate her laughter.

“Ohhh, son of a monkey, that is such a load of shi—” I squinted at her when she almost slipped again. “Lamos hates you and you hate him even more. I do believe you once said that you’d rather sit your naked poonani in a nest of fire ants then let your coochie anywhere near his peen.” 

Ignoring her, I moved to the side so I could see the TV again. I was four seasons into American Dad and Mac was blowing the mind numbing buzz I had been trying so hard to capture. 

“Come on, this isn’t something Bee the Bootlicious would do. This whole scene has Mac all over it.”

I glanced at Mac, silently agreeing with her, but for the first time in my long existence, I understood why she would occasionally lock herself away and binge on TV and ice cream. It felt good to just give up and stop trying. This was my time out, and I was darn well taking it.

“I like your hat,” I murmured.

Her hand rose to the bill and tugged at it. Across the front was the quote ‘Shut Up, I wear heels bigger than your penis’. With a dramatic flair, she spun around and fell back into my heavily cushioned couch. It felt weird being home, back in my luxurious surroundings with room to run from room to room if I felt the need. Followed quickly by that thought was the crushing sorrow of my mortal apartment. I missed it. Well, not really, but I missed the memories that came with it.

“How’s Goth Boy?”

“He hates me, I hate him, all is right with the world. I’ve set him up in a sweet bachelor pad with no less than three bathrooms, as per your request. Krueger has settled in, has his very own suite, with a deluxe litter tray and all.”

We fell into a comfortable silence as on the wide, eighty inch LCD screen before me, Roger and Stan flew over remote bush land, laughing about the closest town being Stan’s ass and apparently it was a hole. I snickered; the joke was so bad it was good.  

“When do you go all Robin Hood and start shooting again?” Mac mumbled with a pout in her voice.

“I’ll head out in a few more hours.”

“You going to get dressed this time?”

“I’m staying cloaked, nobody will see me, so no, I’ll be wearing my sexylicous bedroom outfit.”

“How many have you fixed?”

I took a deep breath and tried to will away my headache. As an immortal, I wasn’t supposed to get them, but there was no denying that my head ached. By ‘fixing’ Mac was referring to my crusade to right my wrongs. The figure of non-potential shootings was staggering, hundreds of thousands of souls to match and with only mere mortal years to fix them in, time was running out. I’d spent the last three weeks working almost every hour of every day, sleeping a few winks here and there. Three days ago, I’d been forced by my father to take a break, and once my ass found the couch and my hand landed on the remote, I found it hard to get back up again. My mother called it depression, I called it love. This is what love will do to you, build you up so it feels like you’re flying, only to tear you down and shove you so deep underground that it feels like you are choking on dirt. I know, great visual, but it was apt.

“Eight hundred and fifty-two.”

“Holy schmoly, that’s effing awesome! I guess you deserve a little sloth time.”

“Yes, I do.”

“So . . .” Mac began, “. . . I heard your dad visited the mortal realm.”

And just when I thought I couldn’t sink any lower, the knife that had been lodged in my heart for the past three weeks twisted, and I physically blanched from the pain. There was only one reason why my father would visit the mortal realm . . . to remove Austin’s memories. He was free of me, free of the burden that was Phoibe Cupid. There would be no forgiveness, but he would certainly forget. Gods, it hurt. While my father would no doubt help pair him with another potential soul mate, I’d be forced to live eternity remembering the one I lost.

From under the cushion at my side, I reached for the bow and arrow keyring I’d stashed there and lifted it in front of my face.

“You want me to melt it down?” Mac offered, her voice full of sincerity.

The thought of losing this small piece of Austin hurt. I wasn’t quite ready to let go of it yet; I might never be ready to. I slipped the ring onto the fine silver chain I wore around my neck and tucked it under my shirt. Well, Austin’s shirt.

“No.”

“We could find you a bangin’ warrior to bump nasties with, I think the human’s call them ‘rebounds’,” Mac whispered.

I shook my head. I simply couldn’t stomach the thought of replacing Austin’s touch with another. I had partially bonded with him and the tearing of that bond would leave a permanent scar.

Mac wiggled closer and wrapped her arms around me, leaning her head against mine and using a finger to wipe away the stray tears that forced themselves over my lashes and down my cheeks.

“It will get better over time,” she said. Even I could hear the doubt in her words. “Do you want me to kill him for you? I’d totally do it. I’d make it painful too.” That drew a small smile from my lips that had recently found comfort in a permanent frown. “I could make sure your father never finds him another potential and make sure he grows old all sad and lonely.”

Shaking my head, I chuckled. This is why I loved this woman. She didn’t offer platitudes; she offered solutions, however macabre they might be.

“I hate the thought of him unhappy. I hope he finds someone who manages to fill his heart and make him feel content.”

“I hate it when you get all selfless,” Mac said sulkily. “I hope his penis rots off.” Smiling, I snuggled further into her warmth. “You don’t need him, anyway. You've got me.”

“You’ve got Walker,” I pointed out.

“True, but I can chain him to my bed and use him nightly as a sex slave, and then during the day, I’ll take you out into the world where we can be right royal biatches.”

“You cursed.”

“Biatches isn’t cursing.”

“I flove you, Mac.”

She sighed beside me, her breath blowing a strand of my messy hair into my face.

“I flove you more. I think you earned a secret.”

I picked up my head off her shoulder and stared at her. There was only one secret Mac had, and it was about her family. I could hardly believe she was about to spill it. Rolling her eyes, she smiled at my startled expression.

“I stole your bow once and shot Michael Jackson and Lisa-Marie Presley. I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me.”

“You what?” I asked. The secret wasn’t at all what I expected.

“Well, they were just standing there, and I thought it would be funny, and you were sleeping off an all-night bender. It was an accident.”

“You just accidentally stole my bow, and how did you get an arrow?”

“I placed the bow in your hands while you were sleeping, and one just manifested.”

“Accidentally?” I asked, trying not to smile.

“Of course,” she replied. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I feel Vegas calling our name. The fountain of gods inside Caesar’s Palace hasn’t been vandalized in years. I say we dress Zeus in drag and give Poseidon a tiara.”

I didn’t want to move, it hurt too much, but in saying that, it hurt being still as well. Everything hurt and perhaps being a little reckless with Mac would help me forget, if only for a moment.  Be wild with me, Sugar. The words tumbled around my heart, knocking about the empty space, bruising me, which forced another tear to slip free. I dashed it away before Mac noticed and stood up.

“You are not wearing that, though!” she demanded, pointing at my outfit.

With a wave of my hand it disappeared, and a tiny box pleated, red tartan skirt replaced my sweats and a black mesh shirt over a black satin bra replaced Austin’s t-shirt, with thigh high black socks and chucky heeled boots. 

“I see you’re channeling Goth Boy for our outing.”

I glanced down at my ensemble. “I’ve never seen Goth Boy wear anything like this.”

“You know what I mean,” she said with a shake of her head. “Whateve’s, let’s go be destructive.”

With a click of her fingers, we disappeared.