42

[REBECCA]
Two weeks later…
“Lynda, enough!” I exclaimed playfully as she persisted in tickling my sides. “Ouch! It actually hurts. Stop!”
“Well, that’s what you get for throwing whipped cream in my face,” she laughed.
“You did it first,” I retorted, my words intermingled with giggles.
“Ah, please… too much… I can’t breathe…”
“Do you admit defeat?” she growled, attempting to mimic Artemy’s voice. This made me laugh even harder.
“Yes, yes! Oh my God,” I gasped as she gradually ceased her assault on my sides.
But the moment she released me, I swiftly twisted around and seized her by the legs. Locking eyes with her challengingly, I pinned her legs beneath mine and began tickling her.
Now it was my turn to laugh.
“Gotcha!”
She wriggled and struggled, gasping for breath amidst her laughter.
“Lynda! Becca!”
As soon as I heard Nona’s voice from behind me, I abruptly halted the tickling.
“We’re busted,” Lynda whispered.
Untangling myself from her, I stood up and straightened my dress while she did the same.
“What on earth did you do to my kitchen?” Nona gasped. The horrified expression on her face was comical. Raising my hand, I coughed into my palm to mask my laughter, but Lynda didn’t bother hiding hers.
“There’s whipped cream everywhere! You were supposed to make dessert, not turn the kitchen into a dessert!” Nona chastised, her tone carrying a hint of anger as she placed her hands on her hips, glaring at both of us.
“Sorry, Nona. We promise we’ll clean it up,” I replied with a smile, blinking innocently at her.
“Don’t try to act innocent with me, young lady. Lynda’s influence is rubbing off on you,” she remarked.
Lynda chuckled once more and linked her arms through mine. “Definitely,” she said, winking at me. Nona shook her head, but I could see a smile forming at the corner of her lips.
“Don’t worry, Mom. Becca and I will clean it up in no time.”
“You’d better. Now, come on. Hurry up and get to work,” Nona said, turning around and walking out of the kitchen.
“Nona is right. We did make a mess of the kitchen,” I sighed, glancing around.
Two weeks had passed, and it felt as if a whole new life had been granted to me. During this time, my nights had been free from the torment of nightmares, replaced by peaceful slumber. For a fortnight, laughter and smiles were my constant companions.
A profound happiness enveloped me, unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Initially, I couldn’t shake the fear that perhaps all of this was nothing more than a dream, a fleeting illusion that would be cruelly snatched away. But each morning, as I awoke to the continuation of this blissful existence, a glimmer of hope began to take root within me.
This was my fresh start, my chance at a new beginning.
“Lynda, are you finished?” Her voice broke through my reverie, and I offered her a smile. Glancing at the pristine countertops, I nodded.
“Yes, I’m done,” I replied.
“Come on, let’s go. We still have a couple of hours before dinner. We can squeeze in a movie,” she cheerfully suggested, tugging me out of the kitchen.
As we ascended the stairs toward my room, Lynda chatted animatedly about her day with Milandro. It was clear she was deeply infatuated with him. I mustered the courage to ask if she loved him, but her response was a hesitant admission of uncertainty.
I didn’t believe her.
I was certain she loved him but was afraid to admit it. There was no reason for her to be afraid. From what I had observed, Milandro genuinely cared for Lynda.
When we reached the top of the stairs, I abruptly came to a halt, causing Lynda to pause as well.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, puzzled.
I stood frozen, aghast at the sight before me.
Not again.
Then, I heard Lynda mutter angrily, “Seriously?”
There he was-Artemy. But he wasn’t alone. Standing beside him was Bernadette, the same blonde woman I had spotted in his office. Artemy had her pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, lost in a passionate embrace. They seemed oblivious to our presence.
“Seriously, dude? If you want to get it on, get a room. That’s what rooms are for,” Lynda hissed with undisguised irritation. Her words cut through the air, loud and clear.
Artemy’s head snapped back, his gaze locking onto us with a mixture of desire and surprise. I averted my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.
“Well, if you don’t want to see anything, feel free to leave,” Bernadette retorted sharply.
“This is a hallway, and anyone can pass through. Trust me, no one wants to witness your saggy boobs hanging loose. So, do us all a favor and get a room,” Lynda retorted calmly, her voice dripping with venom.
“You know…” Bernadette began to speak, but her words trailed off as Artemy opened his door, on the verge of stepping inside. Bernadette clung to him tightly, like a vice that refused to let go. Turning her head towards us, she smirked before burying her face in his neck. That was the last image I caught before the door closed.
“That little bitch,” Lynda seethed beside me, her anger palpable. “I swear to God, one day I’ll tear those fake hair extensions right off her head. She makes me so furious. And believe me, I’m not a violent person.”
Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked as we entered my room, “Why do you despise her so much?”
“Is that even a question, Becca? She’s incredibly irritating. Bernadette thinks that just because Artemy sleeps with her, she’s some kind of special. Like, seriously, girl, he sleeps with any woman who has boobs and a pussy.”
I observed Lynda as she jumped onto my bed and sprawled out. She continued, “Bernadette probably believes Artemy will marry her one day. How delusional. Artemy doesn’t care for her at all. She’s just an easy target who keeps coming back for more. If she vanished from his life, he wouldn’t even flinch or go searching for her. He has plenty of other women lining up for him.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, stretching out beside her.
“But I hate her because she’s ruining my ship.”
Confused, I furrowed my brow and asked, “What do you mean?”
Lynda’s eyes widened briefly, then she shook her head. Biting her lip, she shrugged and said, “Forget it.”
“What ship? What are you talking about?”
“It’s nothing,” Lynda replied, sitting up. Leaning over me, she grabbed the remote control. “What do you want to watch?”
I stared at her for a moment, realizing that she was deliberately changing the subject. I couldn’t help but be curious about what she meant, but I decided to let it go for now. I would find a way to get the truth out of her later.
***
“Goodnight,” I called out, bidding farewell to Lynda with a wave. A smile graced my face as I ascended the stairs, the day’s dinner long behind us and the dining room and kitchen now cleaned. It was time to retire for the night.
Pausing outside the piano room, I refrained from knocking, following our established routine. Artemy and I had grown accustomed to avoiding each other during the day, but at night, a tacit agreement emerged. I would play the piano for him before we retreated to our separate bedrooms.
Artemy, gentle and kind, only emerged in the nocturnal hours. In daylight, he transformed into a colder version of himself, even a bit mischievous, referring to me as his “kitten.” If our paths happened to cross inadvertently, he would shoot me that same heated look, teasing me with a fleeting touch before nonchalantly walking away.
However, today was different. After witnessing an awkward encounter in the hallway, I felt a tinge of unease. My stomach churned with knots, embarrassed not only for myself but also for him. I knew he was indifferent, but I couldn’t shake off the strange feeling of catching him in such a compromising position.
Yet, I yearned to play the piano. It had become my obsession, but it wasn’t solely about the instrument itself. I cherished the small, tender, and silent moments shared with Artemy every night. We hardly exchanged words. I played, and he listened. Then we would retire for the night. Despite its simplicity, it held great significance for me.
Summoning my courage, I lifted my hand and gently knocked on the door. When I heard his invitation to enter, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind me. Tonight, Artemy sat on the couch as usual, but this time, he had his laptop. He was typing away fervently, but when I approached, he glanced up and paused.
I greeted him with a smile, but as always, he didn’t reciprocate. Artemy closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table, reclining against the couch and extending his legs in front of him. It was a clear signal. He was prepared for me to play. Offering him another smile, I made my way to the piano and settled down behind it. With closed eyes and nimble fingers, I began to play.
The sweet melody flowed through the room, instantly easing the tension in my muscles. Night after night, I played that song, softly singing the lyrics under my breath. Each composition filled my chest with contentment, a sense of soaring freedom taking hold.
After two songs, I opened my eyes and found Artemy’s gaze fixed intensely upon me, just as it was every night. Blue eyes ablaze, he watched me play. Continuing my repertoire, we locked gazes, absorbed in the moment. We breathed in unison-I played, I sang, and he observed. It was an exquisite experience, the most beautiful thing I had ever known.
Concluding the third song, I brought my performance to a halt. Artemy maintained his unwavering focus as I rose from the piano bench. Moving toward him with deliberate steps, I stopped a few feet away.
“Goodnight,” I whispered softly.
“Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the dimly lit room.
Those two simple words became our nightly ritual, the only connection between us. With a gentle smile, I left the piano room, softly shutting the door behind me. Leaning against it, my heart continued its rhythmic dance of anticipation.
I strolled towards my bedroom, a contented smile gracing my lips. Upon entering, I swiftly discarded my black dress, replacing it with a delicate light pink nightgown Nona had gifted me. Slipping under the covers, I closed my eyes, my hand instinctively reaching under the pillow for Artemy’s jacket.
To my dismay, my searching hand met only the cool surface of the mattress. My eyes flew open, and I sat up abruptly, pushing away the pillows in frantic pursuit of the jacket.
It was nowhere to be found.
No, no, no. Panic surged through me, and I leaped out of bed, scouring my bedroom in a desperate frenzy. I needed his jacket, my source of solace. Sleep would elude me without it.
I had to find it.
Yet, my search yielded no results. Gasping for breath, my disheveled hair falling around my face, I pressed a trembling hand against my chest, feeling the waves of anxiety crash over me.
Susan must have discovered it while cleaning my room earlier. She had taken it away, and I had been so foolish not to remember.
Sinking down onto my bed, tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision as they cascaded down my cheeks. I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping without it, for the nightmares would surely return.
Curling up, I clutched my knees to my chest, sobbing into my pillow, my world consumed by heartache.