Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Hold up, you what?” she asks, mouth agape.
I start to feel lightheaded and lie down on the floor, the cold tiles soothing my skin.
“I think I’m drunk.”
“Or baked.” Simone laughs.
“Baked?” I ask, confused, not moving.
“Yes, those brownies have a little something extra in them.”
“Oh gosh. Not only am I drunk, I’m stoned. And had sex with a serial killer. I should add this to my resume, get street cred…” I whine as I feel Simone sit on the floor next to me. She brings the pizza with her, though. “And I made friends with mafia wives.” I clap my hands, and the sarcastic look? I have that mastered right now. “Yay me.”
“Come on, think about it like this… You have gotten life experience. Before, you would have dressed up for a gala or event and that’s it. Stayed by Kyler’s side and talked to who he wanted you to talk to.” She shrugs. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Oriana.” I close my eyes as I hear my name.
“I’m pretty high, I th…think,” I slur, my eyes still closed. “Because I can hear my mother saying my name.”
“Yeah, I think its because she’s at the door.” I fly into a seated position, banging heads with Simone, cracking my nose on her forehead.
“Fuck!” she shouts. “That hurt.”
“Sorry.” I look to the door, holding my nose. “Are we just high?” I whisper.
But soon after a knock follows, and I groan as I hear my mother’s voice again. “Pretend we aren’t here. We can hide.” I get on my hands and knees and go to hide behind the couch when my mother’s voice filters through the door, “I can hear you, Oriana.” She sounds annoyed.
“Sugar,” I fake-swear. I look back to see Simone, still on the floor, eating her pizza. Managing to stand, I walk to the door and reluctantly pull it open. My mother stands there with a large bag in her hand, and a whole pile of disappointment written all over her face.
“You haven’t called.”
“I’ve been busy,” I tell her.
Mother walks in and wraps her arms around me, dropping her bag as she hugs me. “So I’ve heard. It’s why I came to see you.” She hugs me tighter before she lets me go and pulls away. “I see you both are still causing trouble,” she says, looking to Simone, who hasn’t moved from the floor.
“Sorry, Mrs. Lavender.”
I help Simone up as my mother walks into the kitchen and opens the other pizza box, pulling out a slice and eating it quite quickly.
“What’s the plans?” Her eyes fall on me. “Kyler rang me.”
I groan.
How can a man be so distant in a relationship and then, after, be more available than ever? It literally makes no sense. I look to Simone for help, but she goes to the sitting area and flicks on the television totally ignoring me. Typical, when the going gets tough…
When I turn back, my mother has half a brownie in her mouth.
Oh hell…
“You shouldn’t eat that,” I warn.
“Why? It’s amazing. You did good. You must give me the recipe.”
Simone starts laughing, hard, falling to the couch until we can’t see her anymore but we can still hear her.
“You didn’t bake it?” my mother asks, nodding to where Simone is roaring with laughter.
“Mom, that has marijuana baked into it.” I watch the horror cross my mother’s face. Her eyes go wide, and she throws the brownie, glaring at it before she picks up the closest drink, which just so happens to be my wine, and chugs it all.
“You let me eat it,” she accuses.
“Technically, you didn’t ask. You just ate it.” I shrug. “I ate one, and I’m still alive.” I sit back on the floor and lie down again. “I feel just a little tired, like I’m falling through the floor. That’s all I feel.”
Simone keeps on laughing.
My mother gasps as if realization has dawned about something. “Does this make me a druggie? I’ve never had drugs. Oh gosh, what if I become addicted?”
Simone loses it. She is in hysterics.
“I’m sure you won’t,” I tell her at the same time Simone yells between her hysterics, “Drugs are bad, kids, you get addicted.”
It’s the same wording my mother used to say to us as children.
“Simone,” my mother yells. Holding the bottle of wine, she lies down next to me. “The floor is nice and cold.”
“It is,” I agree.
“And my daughter is getting divorced,” Mom says.
“I am,” I whisper.
“Are you happy?”
“Right now, she is,” Simone yells.
I laugh at her and turn to face my mother. “I’ve been having the best sex of my life with someone who isn’t my husband,” I tell her. It’s amazing how liberal you become with your mother when there is no filter to stop you from talking.
She lies there for a moment before she finally says, “That’s nice, dear.”