Page 88 of One Filthy Kiss

Nikki drags her gaze away from the window. The expression on her face when she looks at me, the narrowed eyes, and the downturned lips, makes me shiver. We shared a bed last night. We had a sleepover just like we used to when we were at high school, chatting through the night, giggling, sharing our dreams for the future, but I barely recognize this woman.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Her voice fires back like a bullet.

“Try me.”

“Why? Are you a relationship expert now that you’ve met Gio?”

That stings. “That’s not what I mean. I’m just trying to work out what’s going on with you.”

“Ugh!” Nikki clenches her fists and her jaw. “Listen to yourself. I made a phone call. So fucking what?”

I’m holding a wooden-handled knife in my hand, and without thinking, I slam it down onto the chopping board where it slices into the wooden surface with a dull thwack.

“So. Fucking. What?” I repeat. “This is my sister’s life we’re talking about here. If he finds her…”

“Oh, so you’re blaming me now for him following you here. Don’t you think he’d have found you anyway? Who did Amber wave to on the fucking cable cars?”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. My blood is rushing through my veins and trying to drown out her caustic voice, but without success.

“You told the jerk you’re screwing around with that you were coming here. You gave him our location.”

“Him?” Her voice cranks up a notch. “You think I’ve been cozying up to Amber’s father all these years? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I shake my head. Stare at the balls of mozzarella dotted around the pizza.

Am I out of my mind? I must’ve been when I thought that I could bring Amber to America. What was wrong with a cheap vacation to Bournemouth or Brighton or Bognor Regis, someplace with sandy beaches and stripy windshields and people eating fish and chips out of thick white paper?

How can I blame Nikki when I should never have brought Amber here in the first place.

“You’re bleeding onto the carpet.” I stare at the tiny red dots scattered around her feet.

She peers down at the floor and then at her hand. She hangs her head and slumps her shoulders. Her gaze slides to the makeshift den with Amber inside, and then across to me standing behind the kitchen counter, and it’s like a switch has been flicked.

It’s almost as if I’m watching the real Nikki reinhabiting her body.

Her eyes register the blood and the knife sticking out of the chopping board and the darkness outside the windows. “I’m so sorry, Meg,” she whispers.

Something inside me cracks wide open. I open the cabinet above the sink, find the medical kit, and beckon for her to join me.

She pulls out a seat and sits heavily at the table, her bloody hand resting, palm-down, in front of her. I sit next to her and open a packet of antiseptic wipes to clean the deep gouges in the back of her hand.

In all the years we’ve known each other, we’ve rarely argued, and whenever we have, we simply move on from it. We share a quiet moment over something that brings us together, like a glass of Pinot, a book we both love, or our favorite scene fromSchitt’s Creekwhere David serenades the love of his life Patrick by lip-synching to ‘Simply the Best’.

Now, we come together over Nikki’s bloody hand.

She winces as I clean it gently with the antiseptic wipes. “Tommy isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever met, Meg.”

I focus on her hand. I don’t acknowledge that she just told me his name is Tommy.

It’s a start.

“I never thought a man like him would ever look at a girl like me.” She inhales deeply. “I always felt bold in London, you know. Kind of empowered, especially when I was on stage. But in LA, I felt so tiny, so inconsequential when I firstarrived. Of course, the accent made me stand out like a sore thumb.”

I nod while I rummage through the medical kit for a Band-aid.

“So, when Tommy actively sought me out, it made me feel special. I saw how the other women followed him with their eyes. The men too.”

She smiles, and I reciprocate with a smile of my own.