Red Mourning by R M Wild

Author:R M Wild [Wild, R M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mod 29 Media
Published: 2020-05-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Once they were gone, I went upstairs to strip their sheets. I wanted to burn them but didn’t have the patience to gather firewood, nor enough money to buy a new set.

I walked into the bedroom. A strong whiff of cherry perfume singed my nostrils, made me lightheaded, and made the memory of Lori bursting through my front door come rushing back.

It was definitely the same cherry scent, a bit too sweet, like dying flowers. But the scent did not waft alone. Now, mixed with the fruity sweetness was the dry leafiness of unfiltered cigarettes. Bella had probably smoked in bed after the party and spritzed enough perfume on the sheets to cover her tracks. Sadly, there wasn’t enough detergent in the world to disinfect the trace of that vile woman. The smell was so strong, I wondered if I’d need expensive fumigation.

Bella had marked her territory. Seriously, what did Mettle see in that woman?

I held my breath and ripped the sheets off the bed and tossed them on the floor, half-expecting a swarm of cockroaches or other harbingers of pestilence to scurry for safety into the closet. The cherry scent was so intense, it actually hurt to breathe. I didn’t want to gather the sheets up in my arms, didn’t want to get second-degree chemical burns on my arms, so I turned to grab a garbage bag from the downstairs pantry when I noticed a single tube of lipstick sitting on the vanity like a middle finger.

I pushed the sheets aside with my foot and went to inspect it. Without touching it, I crouched down to its level and examined the tube from all angles as if it were some radioactive specimen found in the desert. Nightshade. Her new brand. Clever girl. Assuming I was brand resistant and immune to the hard sell—which I was, and proudly so—Bella had left it behind as a sample. She was trying to get me hooked and hoped I would go to the website and order more.

I picked it up and turned it over. Holding it between two fingers, I looked in the mirror. My cheeks were pale this morning, made paler by the contrast with the dark rings under my eyes. My hair was disheveled and I was still in my pajamas. Maybe Mettle was right. Maybe I was just a plain Jane. Maybe I needed to go with the flow. Maybe all those women knew something about happiness that had eluded me since birth. Maybe it was time to toss my cheap Walmart cosmetics aside and treat myself to something special.

Still lightheaded from all the perfume hanging in the air like nuclear fallout, I pulled off the top and twisted the body of the tube. The reddish tip, angled like someone had bit off the end of a crayon, extended past the plastic rim and sparkled like a sugary red gumdrop. What was the big deal? It was just another shade of lipstick, right? Nothing special.

I brought the tip toward

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