“Shit,” Brooks says. “Help me! Get her some water.”
I breathe slowly, shallowly, and lie still. This is the best possible thing I could have done, faking passing out. I wish I could have passed out legitimately to free me from the thoughts of Pink Dress riding his dick, but apparently, I only pass out when I get my head slammed into concrete floors.
Shoes click down the hall, two sets, Marcy and Pink Dress running off to fetch the water.
“Emily,” Brooks breathes, shaking me gently. The roughness of his hand smooths damp hair from my forehead. His touch causes my eyes to flutter as his thumb grazes my cheek. It sparks a little flame of hope. He wouldn’t touch me like this if he didn’t feel something for me. The woman must be a toy—one I need to break. I was too soft on Eliza. She almost ruined everything. I won’t make that mistake again.
Shoes again. Click, click, click. “Kitchen was out of ice,” a voice says, thick with youthful sluttiness.
Brooks’s hand moves from my face. Something hard is pressed against my lip. I wish it were his dick, but it’s a cup. He lifts me as he tilts it against my lips, water spilling into my mouth and rolling down the sides of my face. I allow my eyes to slowly open and close as I try not to choke.
“Emily?” Another gentle shake.
My eyes squint as I sleepily peer at him, his full lips perfectly pouted in his concern. I draw mine back in confusion. “Wh—what happened?”
“You fainted. Are you okay? How do you feel?”
His hands cradle my head, resting in his lap on top of his cock, except there’s no excitement to be felt.
I bring a hand to my forehead and close my eyes again. “I—I’m really dizzy.”
“We should get her to the sofa in the ladies’ room,” says Pink Dress.
Listen to this bitch, only wanting me out of his lap—off his cock.
Hands are on me—Marcy’s and Pink Dress’s—pushing me off Brooks and up straight in the chair. Brooks stands, and I’m hoisted up—safe in his strong arms, head pressed against his neck. I can think of another place I’d rather he take me, but then I feel a morsel of guilt as I remember this is God’s house. I shouldn’t be thinking such things here, of all places, even though I know He wants us together. He made us to match—for our souls to join for all of eternity.
My breasts bounce as Brooks carries me down the hall, my hands wrapped around his neck as heels click along behind us. Brooks stops. Turns and uses his foot to kick open the ladies’ room door, the waft of lavender and shit assaulting my nose. How romantic, I think, my lips brushing against his neck as he lowers me down into the overstuffed chaise and adjusts a pillow behind my head.
“Would you like some cookies? Doughnut?” Marcy asks.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Just need to sit for a few minutes.”
“Did you feel all right earlier this morning?” Brooks asks, hands in his pockets now.
Hmm. What to say, what to say? “You know, I did feel a little off. I remember the sanctuary felt like it was a hundred degrees.”
“You need to eat something,” Marcy says again, the bossy brat. “I think we have some of those Lorna Doone cookies—”
“She needs some real food,” Brooks interjects. “There’s a sandwich shop next door. They have smoothies, too.”
“Fabulous idea,” Marcy says. “I’ll go fill Pastor Maxwell in so he can tell all of our brothers and sisters you’re all right. I’m sure they’re worried out there.” She smiles at me, then pushes her way through the door and into the hall, sending a shitty lavender tornado my way.
“I should get back out there, too,” Pink Dress says, crossing her arms.
“Yeah, my parents are probably wondering what happened.”
“I may not see you until tonight.” To my horror, they hug. “And we have to swing by my sister’s before our date.”
That’s it. That’s fucking it. This bitch is toast.
“Actually, do you think you could stay with Emily for a few while I grab her something to eat?”
She pulls away from him. Glances at me. “Of course.”
“You’re the best.” He smiles, then turns to me. “Emily, what would you like?”
I’d like for Pink Dress to die is what I’d like. “Surprise me.”
He smiles. “Be right back.”
Once he’s in the hall and the door swings shut again, Pink Dress sits in a chair nearby, hands awkwardly patting her legs. “So,” she says, “I’m Isabel. How do you and Brooks know each other?”
I almost make a grave mistake. Almost fuck up and tell her I met him in fifth grade. “I was friends with his ex-fiancé.”
“Oh,” she frowns. Then, her eyes brighten. “Oh, was. Good. She didn’t deserve him.” She turns to the mirror. Smooths her hair, and rubs some eyeliner from the corner of her eye.
“She sure didn’t.” And you don’t, either. “So, where are you guys going for your date?”
She turns to me again, a smile taking up half her face. “This amazing Korean barbecue place. Breakers. You been?”
“No. I haven’t lived here very long. Is that all you’re doing?”
“Eh,” she shrugs. “We both have to work tomorrow. But maybe we’ll have dessert.” She winks at me before turning to the mirror again.
My cheeks burn as I fantasize about grabbing her by the hair and smashing her head into the mirror. She pulls gloss from the bust of her dress. Puckers her lips and applies it, and then points to the bathroom stall before stepping inside. The thought of her having dinner with Brooks and then feeding him her pussy bothers me more than if he were to go fuck Eliza again. My teeth grind as I press my nails into my thighs. I could kick open the door. Rip her hair out. Drown her.
But, you know, jail.
Her pee trickles gently into the toilet, forcing me to think about that pussy of hers and how he may be in it later. I didn’t change my entire life to let some Victoria’s Secret wannabe fuck up my life. Quietly, I get up. Walk to bathroom counter and reach for the hand soap. Squirt several pumps onto the floor—squirt, squirt, squirt—the sound of urine still flowing from her inevitable unicorn twat. I bend down, spread it around with my hand, then walk back to the chaise. Rub my hands off on the back of it, and sit back down.
That should do it. She won’t be going on a date tonight after she sprains one of her pretty ankles.
The toilet flushes. The stall opens. One step out. Two steps out, my heart racing as she approaches the soap. She doesn’t complete her third step, as her foot slips, her arms swiping furiously in the air as she falls backward, her ass slamming against the dirty bathroom tile as she catches herself on her elbows and screams in pain.
“Dammit!” she yells, sitting up and clutching her left arm against her chest.
I jump up. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
Her eyes squeeze shut as a single tear falls from her lashes. “I … I think my arm is broken.”
Dramatic, much? “Try to move it.”
She attempts to straighten it out, but cries out in pain. “I can’t.” She shakes her head. “It’s definitely broken.”
Shit. Well, I didn’t mean to break bones, but I guess I’ll take it.
The door opens. My head turns to see Marcy, open-mouthed and wide eyes. “What’s going on?”
“She broke her arm.”
“Get my phone. Call Leo,” she cries. “I need to go to the hospital.”
My head turns to her again. “Who’s Leo?”
“My boyfriend.”