Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Shay| Fault lines

"Go f*ck yourself, Shayne." Bianca shoved past her with a slam of her shoulder.

Shayne lingered a moment, watching as she blazed down the sidewalk, arms hugged to her body and proud shoulders stooped.

"F*ck me, is right," Shayne whispered and thrust out her arm for a cab.

As they pulled out outside of Rita's townhouse; the windows were all dark but she heard the heavy beat of music playing followed by a clattering bang.

Hostia puta...how this street was not crawling with cruisers answering a noise complaint was beyond her. "Keep the change," she told the driver and leapt out of the back seat. Lopping up the steps, Shayne knocked briskly, and then jiggled the knob.

Shocker, it was unlocked.

"Rita?" Poking her head inside, Shayne looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dim and darkness. The song—Kings of Leon—faded to an end and she heard a whimpering sigh coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Shutting the door behind her, Shayne set the flashlight on her phone and whisked the bright beam around and was horrified. The room was in complete, utter disarray. The cushioned heaved off the couch, framed pictures scattered on the floor—broken and ruined. Glass shards and fragments scattered across the hardwood like confetti after a savage party. Mugs, from the look of it, and stemware. Maybe a wine bottle or two.

Each footstep crunched loudly over the debris and as she neared the length of the island, her light fell on Rita's leg. She was slumped on the floor, head hung and a bottle of vodka well on its way to joining on the shattered remains of the others, and a crumpled large envelope at her side.

"Hey." Shayne dropped to her haunches and angled the light so that it wouldn't flash directly into Rita's face. "What the hell happened? Are you okay?"

"Drinking yourself stupid isn't the answer, babe."

"It's worth a shot." A giddy snort escaped before she clapped hands over her mouth. "A shot, get it?"

"Cute. Real cute. But I'm keeping the bottle." Shayne plucked the vodka from Rita's loose grip and her mouth tumbled open.

"You can't do that."

"Watch me." Shayne rose to her feet and realizing what she meant to do, spitting with fury, Rita launched at her, fingers clawing for the bottle. Catching her around the waist, Shayne wrestled the vodka, and Rita, over to the sink and dumped the liquor down the drain as she howled in protest.

"Rita, come on—stop. This isn't you."

"I need it."

"No, you don't." Bottle empty, it clattered in the sink. "Is there anything else in this place?"

Rita pouted, all fight gone in her. "No."

"I'm not playing with you."

"No. It's gone. It's all gone. Everything's gone. Happy now? Are you happy, Shayne?" Weeping fiercely, Rita pressed her hands to her eyes and sobbed in loud, heavy breaths.

"Do you think you can manage a shower?"

Rita nodded.

"Good. Go upstairs, clean up and I'll make some coffee. Then you can tell me what's going on, okay?"

Rita nodded again. Swayed. Arm hooked around her waist, Shayne led her up the stairs. She waited until she heard the sound of the bathroom door close quickly followed by the hard rush of water and prayed that she wouldn't have to go in there and fish a passed out Rita off the shower floor.