image
image
image

Chapter 10

image

I try to eat, but my appetite is gone and I can’t push down more than half of a croissant. I finish my breakfast, wipe my fingers on a napkin and decide to check out the clothes in the wardrobe. I’d love a pair of jeans, trainers and a sweatshirt. A school pencil skirt isn’t the most comfortable thing to wear if you need to run or fight, and right now I’m not excluding either possibility.

Of course, there’s a strong doubt in my ability to fight Sam for example and win, but I’m trying not to think about it right now.

My bedroom has three more sets of doors, apart from the entrance doors. The wide double doors with glass tops, surrounded by wide windows on either side, must be leading outside as the sunlight streams through them into the room.

I slowly come closer and peek out.

I huff as I strain, pulling open the heavy door and step out onto an enormous balcony. The room I’m in is suspended high in a tall building. It is easily the twentieth floor, maybe even higher. A thick and intricate stone railing encircles the entire balcony. It’s like the balcony is surrounded by fat upside down stone vases. A black wrought iron gate with a simple latch is fitted in the middle of the stone railing and the confusion is replaced with the appreciation for angelic attention to detail. If I needed extra proof that ‘Sam the angel’ is not a product of my imagination, the gate in the middle of the railing of the balcony on the twentieth floor must be it. I wouldn’t have such a detailed hallucination. I guess that gate saves angels climbing over the railing to take to the sky or to come back to land.

I come closer to the railing, resting my belly on its stone top as I look down.

Below spreads a park with large, perfectly green lawns, rolling far into the horizon like posh golf retreat grounds. Shimmering ponds speckle the endless enormity of the lawn, reflecting the piercing cloudless blue sky above. A few small forestry areas are dotted around, interrupting the perfect stretch of grass. A warm summer breeze strokes my face, bringing woodland smells, mixed with a sweet hint of cherry blossom and cut grass.

Although ‘picture perfect’, something bothers me and it takes me a minute to realise that the sky is unnaturally still and quiet. The bright sunny day isn’t interrupted with the usual hustle of wildlife in the sky, birds aren’t singing and insects aren’t buzzing in the vastness of it, the air is totally silent. This sky and grass look like the photographic backdrop for a TV show. This unnerving silence unsettles me and with a final glance over the silicon perfection, I rush back inside, closing the doors tightly behind me.

I try the next set of doors and freeze on the spot as the door swings open to a large brightly illuminated room, organised with mahogany wooden shelves, hangers and drawers, all filled with neatly arranged clothes and shoes. This room is a shopaholic’s heaven.

I gawk, open mouthed, at the substantial palatial walk in closet, as I take a few tentative steps in.

Shelves full of shoes are taking up the closest wall on the right. Shoes, boots, and sandals of all colours and styles are lined up precisely on the shelves, like soldiers in a parade. I bet if they had arms, they would be saluting me now. The shelves reach to the ceiling and I wonder how you’re supposed to take the shoes down from the top shelf. Maybe there is a ladder or some rotating mechanism built into them?

The farthest half of the right wall is taken up by a ceiling high large mirror in a gold opulent frame.

The opposite wall holds a single, long rail, offering an extensive collection of silk and sparkling evening dresses on wooden and padded hangers, some jackets and long coats hang towards the end. The single mahogany shelf is suspended above the rail, holding the collection of hat boxes, mixed with a mouth-watering selection of handbags of all shapes, colours, sizes and styles.

The remaining walls are holding clothes on hangers, interspersed by closed drawers of polished mahogany wood, decorated with intricate gold handles. Sweaters and jumpers, trousers and skirts are arranged in their private sections with care and precision.

A circular, cream leather “Chesterfield” couch, like a fat cat is nestled in the centre of the room.

I take a few more steps inside the ‘wonder room’. It smells of orange peel, lavender and wood polish.

Now inside, I can see a mirror, covering the entire ceiling with a smaller copy of the main room’s crystal chandelier, suspended heavily from it. The light catches off the mirror, bending through the edges and corners of the crystal droplets of the chandelier, fanning the rainbows over the room. Rainbow speckles are sprayed over the ceiling and walls. Spot lights above the clothing alcoves add to the brightness of the room.

I stand there in awe, taking in the sheer wealth of it all. Hesitantly, I turn and close the distance between me and the parade of shoes. With a shaking hand, I reach out and stroke the black patent high heeled pair next to me. They are an absolute beauty. “Gucci”. Wow!

I don’t know who the owner of these beauties might be or if I’ll be slapped on the hand for touching someone’s treasures but, unable to stop myself, I reach out and take them in my hands. They are my size. With a quick glance over my shoulder at the door, I put them on. They pinch my feet and I’m very unsteady in heels, but catching a reflection of myself in the mirror, I like how I look in them.

I know Sam said that the clothes and shoes are for me, but I’m sure he meant that I can borrow someone else’s stuff for a bit.

I put the shoes back and scan the shelves for the cheapest pair of trainers I can find. One shelf is filled with trainers, each pair is more expensive than the next. After scanning for a while, I decide to bite the bullet and take something black and conservative looking, but even these are “Moschino”.

I move to the next wall where I spy neatly folded jeans, nestled in four box-like shelves. I pick a pair, deciding this time not to even look at the label and hope to be alive after the lending owner discovers what I took. Next I pick a vest and pull a sweatshirt off a hanger.

Now I need to find a bathroom to have a shower and get dressed in privacy, because let’s face it, this room is busier than the bathrooms in an airport with someone barging in through the door every second. I wonder if the privacy is alien concept to angels and if they live like one big, happy, hippy community here?

I leave the ‘every girl’s dream’ room and try the last set of doors. Sure enough, I’m in a luxurious bathroom, dazzling with shiny white tiles, mirrors, gold taps and handles. A few white orchids are placed around the room, adding the sophistication to the room.

A white Jacuzzi, the size of a medium pool, occupies a further corner of the room, while a large high-tech shower stall with a small white bench inside takes up another. I’ve never seen a shower stall big enough to house a bench and still have enough space for three people to comfortably have a shower. A white fluffy pyramid of towels is stacked up on the wooden bench nearby. A white leather armchair is in the corner next to the door. I lay my new clothes on it.

One wall is taken by two large sinks with golden taps, with white glossy cabinet doors underneath and a large mirror above. The glass cabinet next to it holds a stockpile of posh looking toiletries, toothbrushes sealed in packets and even some make-up items.

With an unsure hand, I open the glass door and take a bottle of shower gel and a bottle of shampoo.

I lock the door to the bathroom and yank it to check that it works. Although the door is locked, I feel less than secure, so I strip, take a shower, wash my hair, dry myself and dress in record time.

Once my sweatshirt and jeans are on, I exhale with relief. Covered, I feel less exposed and less vulnerable.

As I come out of the bathroom, I stop in my tracks.

Tabby is sitting in one of the chairs with my breakfast tray on her lap, littered with crumbs and leftovers, while she is busily stuffing her face with my food. Only the coffee jug remains untouched on the table.

“Hi Tabby”, she looks very cute and my lips stretch unwillingly into a smile, as I come closer to her.

“Hi”, she mumbles with a mouth full of food. I’m gifted with a wide smile and a glorious view of the half-chewed breakfast in her mouth.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask as I approach her.

“Sam said you needed company, and he asked me to show you the park.”

Swallowing her food, she wipes her mouth with her arm.

Tabby is wearing a denim dungaree skirt with a black punk style t-shirt underneath. Black knee-high socks and the earlier red high-top trainers finish off her rebellious look.

“We can go when you finish your breakfast”. I will pay for the missing breakfast later, but I’m not angry with her.

“I’m finished anyway”. She places the tray on the table, hops off the chair and crumbs and food bits fall from her lap onto the carpet like autumn leaves.

She steps over the semi-circle of mess she made and we turn to the door, ready to go, when the door swings open.

Again.

For crying out loud! Does anyone know how to knock in here? I’ll have to speak to Sam about it.

A striking supermodel with waist-long blonde hair lazily saunters into the room, swaying her hips as she walks. Shimmering blonde hair, perfectly formed face, sparkling green eyes and luscious red lips, only one sentiment pops into my head as I watch her approach: ‘sex on a stick’. A pair of pale blue wings moves lazily behind her back. Her tight grey mini dress accentuates every curve of her gorgeous figure. This one knows that she is gorgeous and isn’t afraid to use it.

I stand there, gawking at her.

With a charming smile, she comes closer.

“You must be Ariel”. Her voice is soft and melodic and she smells amazing. I can’t put my finger on the smell but I can bet that it’s something expensive, designed to be as sensual as possible.

Languorously, she sweeps her gaze over me, from the top of my head to the tip of the trainers I’m wearing. Her mesmerising bright smile lightens her face but doesn’t touch her venomous cold eyes. It’s like her eyes belong to another person entirely. And I feel like I’ve been slapped.

I take a step back, surprised and shocked by such raw malice.

“I have to say, I expected something better”. If anyone saw her through the glass without hearing her, one might’ve thought that she’d been nice and pleasant to me.

I slam my mouth shut. I straighten by back, jerk my chin up and narrow my eyes at her.

“And you are?..” I ask with my best acidic voice. What the hell is going on? I don’t even know you.

“How rude it is of me not to introduce myself. I’m Lis, Sam’s friend”, innuendo drips off her tongue.

“And what do you want, Lis?” I square my shoulders and fold my arms over my chest.

“To see the famous Ariel everyone’s talking about. To see what the fuss is about”, she answers with a sly smile.

That must be some talent, to say polite things but sound totally insulting.

“Well now you’ve seen me. Anything else I can help you with?” With every spiteful word she utters, I’m getting more and more wound up.

I want to roll my eyes and scream. Another one of Sam’s groupies. Why am I always in the middle of it? I don’t even want to do anything with him. I’ve got nothing to do with him, so what’s their problem with me? Daisy and now her...

“No. That’s it. I’ve seen everything I needed to see”, she replies, pursing her lips tight like she’s eaten a lemon. “I sincerely hope that they do have a back-up plan, if that...” she waves her hand loosely at me, sweeping from my toes to my head and back, “is what we are relying on”.

Who the hell does she think she is, talking to me like that? This bitch had better think again if she thinks that she can take me on.

“Listen, Lis.”

Now it’s my turn to dispense the poison. I take a few steps closer to her, now only a tiny step separates us.

“I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Don’t think even for a second that you can come here and try to intimidate me. That’s right, “try”. I don’t know what you’re relying on me for”, I make an air quote marks gesture, “but I don’t owe you anything, so you need to drop your expectations, attitude and leave. I’m not interested in dealing with a rancid skank like you, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my walk with Tabby.”

I glare at her, waiting for her to move out of my way but she doesn’t budge. Any earlier pretence has peeled off and discarded like yesterday’s tarantula skin. The sides of her mouth lift, exposing her perfect white teeth, which are now grinding with hate. Millions of tiny wrinkles cut through her forehead, across and around her nose. She no longer looks pretty, elegant or sexy. Her face is the gruesome mask of loathing and detest.

A pang of sadness stabs at my heart. Why do I get those feelings? Why am I the subject of hate? I never did anything to her. I’ve never done anything wrong to anyone... “Maybe that’s the reason”, Rage whispers inside me. “You were too good to some. You let them believe that you’re weak, that you can be broken”.

Rage is back. She is stretching her muscles, gleefully jogging on the spot and punching the air, like a boxer in a ring waiting for his opponent. A loud Metallica song plays around her and my Rage is smiling. She is finally pleased.

Okay, let’s continue our little showdown.

“I would’ve thought that Sam kept better company than that”. Now it’s my turn to wave my hand over her, while pursing my lips in distaste. “Don’t you have a spiteful bimbo convention to attend or something?” I say folding my arms at her.

“Sam will never be interested in someone like you”, she snarls, bending down, her face inches from mine. I’m itching to slap her stupid face, but Tabby might get scared and I don’t know how strong angels are and what will be my chances in a fight with one.

But I cannot afford to back down in this new place. Survival 101: Never show fear to your enemy.

“Get out of my face or we are going to find out what Sam thinks about your conduct here and hospitality skills”, I hiss, narrowing my eyes at her. “I’m here as his guest and I don’t think you were announced in the programme planned for me. I bet he doesn’t even know that you’re here”, I leer at her, my acidic smile is on point. “Tabby, do you think Sam would like the way Lis is talking to me?” I say over my shoulder at Tabby, keeping my eyes fixed on Lis’ vicious face.

I glance over my shoulder and see Tabby, mesmerised, shaking her head without uttering a word, her big eyes on both of us.

I take a step around the blondie and with a glance at Tabby I say: “Come on Tabby. Let’s go for that walk”, and I’m out of the door.