Chapter 22
Maria - 9 Years Old
FROM THE PRIVATE NOTES OF DR. ANNA MORRIS
" Eww , what's that smell?"
My heart jumped to my throat at that triggering nasally voice—one I dreaded each day, one that seemed to take joy in singling me out. Still, I shrunk my shoulders and slouched an inch in my chair, trying to make myself invisible. My hand shook as I concentrated on copying the sentence Miss Finley had written on the board.
A chorus of high-pitched giggles echoed behind me, and my ears burned brightly. From my mind's eye, I could see the ring leader slowly strolling down the aisle, pausing to take exaggerated sniffs in people's personal space.
"Hmm, no, not you," she sang out as her posse continued to cackle. I could picture them at the edge of their seats, their eyes filled with cruel glee as they glanced from their pack leader to me, then back again, eager for the finale. My eyes flicked to the open door, willing Miss Finley to hurry back.
"I'm just popping down to Miss Graves' room to borrow some staples. Stay in your seats, please," she’d ordered. That was two minutes ago.
I felt, rather than saw, my tormentor stop at my desk before she bent down near my head. Her strong body spray hit my nostrils, tickling them. Still, I'd rather smell like her. I did wake up an hour early this morning to wash myself, though we had run out of soap—even dishwasher liquid, so I prayed I was okay.
Long blonde hair brushed my arm, and it took everything in me not to yank the offending strands.
She breathed deeply and closed my eyes in shame, waiting for her inevitable act of fake disgust to play out. Or was it real? I couldn't smell myself, but I always felt dirty.
"Eww, it's Maria. Again ." To add salt to the wound, she pointed at me, her finger inches from my face.
A smattering of laughs broke out around the room as a few parroted, "Maria smells, Maria smells, Maria smells!"
I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay, keeping my head down, determined to ignore them. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not that it would garner any sympathy from them, anyway. The first few times I was teased for stinking, I tried to explain that our water had been cut off, so I couldn't bathe. After a brief, stunned pause, they had glanced at each other blankly before collapsing in loud giggles.
I didn't bother to clarify that even if the water was on, my mom often forgot to help me bathe, leaving me to burn myself as I tried to balance the hot and cold water. Soap was also a luxury that came well below alcohol.
"Leave her alone. Y'all better sit before Miss Finley comes back, or you'll be in trouble," one of the nicer girls warned.
But she was ignored. Why choose to be kind when you could be mean? Especially when you had the class hanging on your every word.
"Did you hear me, Stinky?" A sharp fingernail dug into my arm before a firm kick rattled my ankle.
I clasped my desk in shock. Even some of the kids had gasped. She’d never been physical with me before. The touch was jarring but not unfamiliar. After all, I was used to having hands on me.
A bit of bravado had me lifting my head to meet her stare head-on, glaring at her for touching me. My nose flared, and my mouth tightened in outrage. Her mocking eyes laughed at me, daring me to lash out, knowing she had a crew of clones ready to jump to her defense.
I didn't know what I would've done then because Miss Finley's voice interrupted our stand-off.
"Okay, all those out of your seats will stay back fifteen minutes during lunch break."
A few groans rang out, and my mouth twitched to smile. Shame, bitch , I thought.
Angry eyes snared mine as her lips pursed in rage. Of course, she would find a way to blame me. With one last glare, she flipped her hair and traipsed back to her desk. But not before sweeping my pen off my workbook and onto the floor. Stifled laughter rang out as frustrated tears burned behind my eyes. Miss Finley walked up to my desk and bent, picking up my pen and placing it gently on my open book.
"Here you go, Maria," she gently said. I felt her hand squeeze my shoulder before she strolled away.
"Aren't you curious about what he wants to say? I would be."
I rolled my eyes as Rachel delicately picked off the parchment paper encased around her chocolate chip muffin. Her legs swung at her perch on my desk. I reached out and jiggled a piece of paper she was sitting on, only for her to lift one butt cheek so I could remove it. So much for hints.
"You're just saying that because Brian happened to get your coffee order right."
She threw her hands in the air, crumbs flying. "What are the chances!"
"That you happen to like a latte? One of the most basic coffee orders? Quite high."
"Are you calling me basic?" She huffed with mock indignation. The chocolate smudged on her chin ruined the effect.
I surveyed Rachel's tattooed-covered arms, her black button vest, which clearly showed she wore no bra underneath, and the blue streaks in her hair.
"You know damn well there's nothing basic about you."
She gave a pleased little wiggle as she bit into her muffin. "I think it was sweet he was up that early waiting for you."
I gave her an unamused flick of my eyebrow. "He works in construction. They're usually up at the ass crack of dawn. He doesn't get any extra points for that."
"Extra points," Rachel emphasized, eyebrows wagging. "So he has some saved up already."
I sighed as I typed, ignoring her. The last person I wanted to be thinking of was Brian. He had minus zero points as far as I was concerned, and I was frankly a little annoyed that my sisterhood was crumbling. All over a basket of muffins and a coffee. What happened to those colorful phrases they all bestowed on Brian and Lissa at The Homestead? We even raised a toast in their honor.
"Here's to no more fuck boys and bitches!" We’d yelled before downing our shots.
I didn't expect them to throw a perfectly delicious basket of muffins away, but I didn't expect to be knocked aside in their haste to grab one. They were just muffins—empty calories.
My stomach growled as I caught a whiff of Rachel's muffin. I swear she warmed it up just to tease me.
"Did you at least thank him for the muffins?"
"We don't know it was from him."
Rachel raised a groomed brow at me. "He sent us the exact same basket of muffins when you were dating."
Yes, were dating. So in my book there was no reason for him to contact me again or send me anything. Especially given how we'd left things the last time. There shouldn't have been any doubt in his mind that I was done.
"He left a note last time," I pointed out. "No note came with those," I gestured out the door, where I was considering kicking her out to. "Ergo, you can't say for definite that they came from him."
They so came from him. And it infuriated me. It was a quickfire way for him to receive a doggy bag full of poo.
"Coffee and muffins. Mmm, mmm. He sure knows how to win a girl's heart."
"Wow, doesn't take much to impress you, does it?" I angrily clicked my mouse to open a document.
"I've done more for less," she shrugged.
So have I. That was why my body count would put a porn star to shame and why I had to see a therapist once a week.
Frustrated, confused, and a little hurt, I gave Rachel a long stare, my mouth turning down in disappointment. "You really think I should talk to Brian? After he disrespected me on our date and after we all watched him take Lissa home? Is he really who you see me with?"
Rachel's mouth dropped open into a little O. Her eyes softened in remorse before she wrapped her half-eaten muffin back up and placed it on my desk. I wanted to swat it away in a fit of pettiness.
"No, I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I didn't mean to make light of it. I know you liked him." She gave me an apologetic smile before leaning over and squeezing my hand. "We're just messing with you, but we're on your side. Would it make you feel better if we dumped the muffins?"
I rolled my eyes before removing my hand from under hers. "Why bother? There's only, like, two left."
"One." Rachel held up a finger. "I stole a few and put them in my bag for later, but if anyone asks, I only took two.
My shoulders relaxed, and a bubbling laugh shook me. I fixed her with an absolved nod. "Alright, get outta here before I dock your pay."
Rachel saluted me before dusting herself off and hopping down from my desk, heading towards the door. She disappeared before her head popped back in, her ponytail swinging. "Hey, next time you see him, can you tell him some tacos wouldn't go unwanted?".
I scrunched up a paper and threw it at her. " Out. " Her laughter echoed down the hall.
The silence was maddening after Rachel left. It didn't help that she forgot to take her half-eaten muffin with her. I glared at the offending cake before snatching it up and throwing it in the waste basket beside my desk. Tough titties, Rachel.
I tried to re-focus on work, but the words on my screen blurred, and I ended up typing and deleting sentences. My mind continued to drift. I replayed the last few conversations I had with Brian until I drove myself mad trying to decipher it. Especially our last meeting. Well, ambush more like it.
I analyzed his behavior over and over, running through his words as if I could garner what he could possibly have left to say to me. I knew I made the right decision to move on without knowing. Right? Yes, absolutely.
Heck, despite Rachel's teasing and despite the fact that those bitches out there chose to hover over that basket of muffins like damn vultures, I knew they were supportive and adamant that I made the right call with Brian. We made a toast to it and everything.
But then those damned texts and calls started filling my phone, messing with my head. And sometimes, when I thought about it enough, his stupidly handsome face swam into my mind. I could picture him standing outside my salon, the morning sun highlighting his windswept hair, with a sheepish and hopeful smile, coffees in hand.
When I told Dr. Anna about what had happened, I tried to keep my tone calm and matter-of-fact. But I knew my voice had risen an octave or two; perhaps it shook a little from anger. Dr. Anna only gave me a small nod before humming in thought.
She questioned me: How did it feel to see him? Why were you indifferent? Did you feel satisfied with how the conversation went?
After noting my responses, Dr. Anna swiftly moved on.
"That's it? You don't want to grill me more about it?"
She continued to scribble before smiling patiently at me. "Was there more you wanted to add? Are you having second thoughts?"
I rolled my lips in, crossing my arms defensively. I slowly leaned back in my chair. "No," I'd grumbled.
She gave a firm nod and crossed something off in her notebook. I sat up straight again, my neck craning as if I could catch a glimpse of what she wrote.
Reconciliation with Brian.
Cross.
Ability to display empathy and closure.
Cross.
"Let's move on," she gently pressed.
If I knew what she wanted to move onto, I would've tried to stay with the Brian thing a little longer. That session had not been fun. Not that any session was. They were hard work. Draining.
But last week had been a real doozy. I thought we’d explored all there was of my childhood and teen years, but for some reason, Dr. Anna wanted to revisit my friendship with Lissa. I’d touched briefly on it in prior sessions: how we met, how long we’d been friends, and our fallout over Simon.
But Dr. Anna didn't want to expand on any of that. She prodded and poked until I had no choice but to delve into a past that still pained me. To explain Lissa, I had to recount the trauma I faced at being viciously bullied.
My personal hygiene had been neglected since I was regularly left on my own. I rarely bathed or showered, and my clothes were constantly dirty with holes sprinkled through them. It took a teacher, Miss Finley, who pulled me aside to talk to me about my personal health. She started to carry spare underwear and little bars of soap, the kind they give you at hotels in packets. She instructed me on how to clean myself if I had no access to running water at home, including using the school sinks if I came to school early enough. It didn't stop the bullying, but at least I knew I no longer smelled.
Then Lissa decided to befriend me. This beautiful girl who had the boys in our class eating out of her hand with her grown-up looks and haughty attitude. For some reason, she decided to take me under her wing. I never looked back. And that bully? I paid her back tenfold.
I was in two minds about bringing that up to Dr. Anna. She would likely ask me if I regretted my actions—and the way I’d felt as I recounted my years of torment, I knew I wouldn't be able to lie to her.
"So your friendship was based more on gratitude and owing Lissa."
"In the end, yeah."
I thought back to those early years at the end of middle school and into high school. Lissa was the first person who made me feel safe, like I belonged. Soon, nearly everyone wanted to be friends with us or date us. Well, date was a strong word. While Lissa had her sights firmly set on Barron, with the odd fooling around with one of our friends, I was less discriminatory about who I chose to share my bed with. Or the back of the swimming shed.
"I know I should feel sad that a long-term friend, someone who I considered a sister, is no longer in my life. But honestly? All I felt was relief." Lissa had always been selfish and untrustworthy. She regularly talked shit about our mutual friends, and there were times I knew she fooled around with some of their boyfriends. I was stupid to think I was safe from her trail of disloyalty.
I didn't mention to Dr. Anna that witnessing Lissa laid out on Brian's lap and knowing she went home with him pierced my gut more than knowing she’d slept with Simon. Lord, Dr. Anna would have a field day analyzing that.
Giving up on actual work, I logged onto our socials page and clicked on the analytics, smiling when I saw the jump in numbers.
I didn't have time to dwell on Brian. I wasn't lying when I told him I had a lot going on. Not only the emotional work I was doing on myself, but career-wise, things were exploding.
At the behest of Linda, I started doing tutorials on our pages. Unbeknownst to me, Linda had procured permission from Yvonne, the beach curl teen, to post a before and after picture on our page. Linda complimented me on my patience with the young girl, how I explained everything in layman's terms, and how I went over details slowly for the wide-eyed teen who soaked everything in. I wasn't the greatest with kids, but I saw something of myself in Yvonne when I was just starting out in the beauty industry: eagerness and a hunger to learn.
So, once a week, Linda would post a make-up or hair tutorial. Sometimes, with the client's permission, or one of our staff members would offer themselves as models. The pictures and videos started to gain traction. Nothing viral, but our salon gained about a thousand extra followers.
I tapped on the latest picture on our page. This time, it was of me. I had Linda add in deep cherry red highlights to my hair. The fullness of my waves toppled with the burst of subtle color throughout my dark strands proved a huge hit. Fifty-two new followers overnight.
Okay, some might be bots, but at least the numbers were headed up. I ran through the comments, deleting the ones that were clearly bots, hovering over the two negative ones, itching to respond before shrugging and moving on. Haters were gonna hate. I knew my hair looked good.
My eyes scrolled quickly down the many lovely comments from clients and random strangers whose algorithms brought them to us. They were all pretty much the same.
Wow!
Gorgeous color.
I wanna do my hair like this!
But then, one stray comment caught my eye, only because it mentioned me by name.
Maria, you're stunning.
The small profile picture showed a man with his back to the camera, shirtless, hands on his hips as he surveyed the view from the top of a cliff.
Brian.c.builds
Brian C Builds.
Brian Chambers.
"Mother fucker."
I quickly logged off, my heart racing in animated beats. I stared at my blank screen for several minutes, my hand itching to log back on and click on his profile. Instead, I snatched my bag and stood.
Nope, fuck this.
I was taking an early lunch.
After wolfing down four mini fish tacos—I couldn't get them out of my head after Rachel mentioned them—and downing two cheeky Coronas, I started feeling a lot better. My heart had calmed, and the hum of alcohol and good food warmed me.
With Brian and his stupid muffins and social media comments forgotten, I ambled back to work with a fresh hop in my step. And maybe just a little bit of tipsiness
My calm mood carried me through the night when I ordered in and watched High Tension, a French horror film I adored. I even had a glass of wine, something I rarely did on a weeknight if I was just chilling on the couch. I refrained from scrolling on my phone, a habit I did even if I was engrossed in something on TV—nothing to do with earlier incidents, of course.
I went to bed early and managed a few chapters of the new Emily Henry book. Even though it took me a while to fall asleep, I still woke up refreshed and ready to take on the day.
While driving to work, I did have a stray thought about whether I should call for an emergency session with Dr. Anna, but I cast my doubts aside. I didn't need one. I was fine.
Our week was booked out with appointments, and I had Friday off. I planned a session with Dr. Anna first thing in the morning before deciding to reward myself with a spa day in Helensville after. Yeah, I could wait until Friday. I was fine—good, even.
Since I had a leisurely lunch yesterday, I decided to work through it in my office. I even managed to spend some time on our social media, not looking through comments. I would leave that for Rachel to handle from now on.
A soft knock on my door pulled me out of my invoice perusal. I greeted Charli with a welcoming smile, which instantly dropped. She had a worried look, but that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the large vase of what could only be described as a small garden laden in her arms.
"They're for you," her voice was timidly small as she shuffled in reluctantly.
I knew just by looking at her that, unlike the muffins, there was no doubt where this forest of colorful crap came from.
"Motherfucker!"