Rich Kids Don't Die | Featured

Chapter Twenty Four

The next morning, Leah woke up from a horrid nightmare. 

Beads of shimmering sweat mingled with crystal tears, running down her cheeks as she pulled back the pink waves of hair plastered to her warm neck. The brightness of her curly hair was bleeding into a pale bubblegum, a metamorphosis she'd observed within the reflection of the floors she'd resorted to for a good puke.

It was the same dream as before: a large, tattooed man bursting through the wooden door of her crappy apartment, with her mother's neck in his hand, a knife between his fingers. This time, instead of the police arriving and taking him away, Leah watched him slit her mother's throat. 

Six years ago, when that same man had barged into their apartment, he'd been met with the violent swinging of a lamp. Leah had been on guard all night. She'd known he would come, after countless threats and messages. 

After she'd ensured he was no longer conscious, she bound him to the sink and called the cops. It was labeled as self-defense, which was mostly true, so they dragged his ass to the police station. Twenty minutes later, they realized he was dead. 

In her dream, she'd been sleeping on the couch when he came in. When it had actually happened, and for weeks afterward, she hadn't gotten a break. But that was years ago now, and today was today, so it shouldn't have mattered. It shouldn't have still haunted her. But hell, it really did. 

With a sigh, she slipped out from underneath the suffocating duvet covers. Already she could imagine floating in a bathtub brimming with numbingly cold water, hoping to emerge with a cooler mind and cooler nerves. Everything in the room felt like it'd been struck by saturated humidity, including herself.

Maddie's blankets were left unruly at the foot of the bed, which could only mean she had already gotten up. What an ungodly hour, too. The sky was still flushed with blurred reds and bleeding pinks. Liquid purple pooled amongst the inky, dyed clouds.

She was probably out with Alex, Leah thought agitatedly. And Violet with Asher. At times, she wondered if Annika and Katya wished there were other boys on the mission. In Katya's case she already knew the answer: if men weren't a priority, men had to go. With Annika, however, Leah simply couldn't tell.

The bathroom was large enough to be its own hotel room. A wide stretch of marble, with sunlight pouring in from the white balcony doors gazing at the sea. Facing the streams of light from the large windows was the bathtub, and to either side of it a separate sink, flowered vase, and mirror. 

Leah's mind suddenly reverted to the events of last night. Asher's words. The thought of her every breath being analyzed as intricately as an Emily Dickinson poem, all by a single soul. Pinpricks of fear nipped at her skin, ribbons of arctic air wedged between her small bones.

Leah shuddered. Opting for licking flames seemed more desirable now.

After twenty minutes of burning bliss, the click of Maddie's room card sounded at the door. Leah crawled out of from the pearly porcelain and onto the marble floors, draping a fuzzy bathrobe over her skin whilst wringing the water out of her pink hair.  

Maddie's next words had already been predicted - Breakfast soon.  

___

After the carmelized lattes and lemon tarts, they all agreed it would be best to explore the city. Being watched didn't necessarily eliminate touristy behavior; certainly not when they had to familiarize themselves with hidden routes and runaway bridges.

Eventually, some kind of definite evil would be chasing them down these Venetian streets. What better time to strike an acquaintance with sharp turns and twisting tunnels, if not now? It was only logical.