The elevator doors opened and a rush of people crammed inside. Welcome to work life! Hurry, the moving sardine can is ready to take you up, up, up and away, depositing you at your joyous new job! Whoopee!
“Mrs. Davenport?”
The voice behind me was somewhat familiar. I tried turning around to put a face to the voice, but considering the elevator was packed with bodies, it was close to impossible. “Yes?”
“Huh, thought that was you,” came the nervous reply.
Recognition of the voice slammed into my mind. Seriously? My very first day at work and I run into Hottie Habanero? My luck sucked dirty balls and Carl’s are nowhere in sight! Of course she worked in the same building! Of course she did!
Oh. My. God! I’d be forced to see her every day! And Carl! What in the hell would I do if Carl came to have lunch with her and I saw them together? Jesus, it’s really hot in this elevator. Really. Freaking. Warm. Hot flash? Panic attack? Mental breakdown?
Yep, all three rolled into one.
I knew the job was a mistake the second Rebecca’s lips uttered the words. Being a part of the workforce was not in my comfort zone and not my cup of tea. I was out of my element among the metal and glass buildings, the heavy traffic, and the loud noises. I belonged on tree-lined streets where the sidewalks were filled with dogs, children, and other mothers toting their offspring to the park, or waiting at the curb’s edge for the ice cream truck. Homeroom mother; Girl Scout troupe leader; cheering face in the stands at any and all school events—that was my role in life.
I didn’t belong here, and confirmation of my gut instincts was only feet away.
I wonder how many rules I’d break if I pulled out a cigarette and lit up? Did I care? Hell no! My soon-to-be-ex’s baby mama was right behind me! If arrested for lighting up, surely there’d be some sort of grace passed along for dealing with such unreal craziness!
The doors opened and in a rush to escape, I tripped and fell, purse flying, contents sliding across the slick marble floor of Baxter, Baxter, & Jenson, CPAs. Fuck! Bet ol H.H. was cracking up on her way to the next floor.
“Are you okay?”
Looking up, I frowned. “Yes, I’m fine Ms. Holloway. Don’t let my clumsiness interrupt you on your way to wherever you work.”
Bending down to retrieve a tube of lipstick, Ginger said: “It’s no problem. I’m at work.”
Stunned, I stuttered: “What … you … work here?”
Handing me the lipstick, Ginger nodded. “Yes, but only for two more weeks. I, uh, well, Carl got me a job at the university.”
Stars danced in front of my eyes. A rush of memories hit me like the proverbial freight train.
Rebecca’s casual remark about needing Mom’s house soon.
The out-of-the-blue job offer.
L.B.’s insistence I start Monday, rather than wait until the divorce was final.
Why Ginger assumed I was the maid—and how she got our home address.
My loving, supportive, twatwaffle sister sent ol’ Hottie to my house, knowing damn well the girl was pregnant with Carl’s baby.
Something inside my mind snapped, just like it did when little, and Rebecca and I fought. Instead of torturing her baby dolls, it was time to unleash my rage on a real person. I’d been angry with Carl, but I was beyond infuriated at Rebecca’s ultimate betrayal.
Welcome to the apocalypse.
“You work for Rebecca Wilson, right?” I asked Ginger through clenched teeth. My voice sounded odd, distant, like it was coming from an ancient set of speakers.
“Yes, how did you know that?” Ginger gasped.
Fuck the remaining items from my purse. I had my wallet, keys, and phone, so the rest could stay put. Rising to my feet, I didn’t even look at Ginger. “Because she’s my sister, and believe it or not, I’m supposed to be your replacement.”
“Supposed?” Ginger asked.
Turning back to face H.H., I scowled. “I just started and quit in the space of one second. You should probably wait out here, Ms. Holloway, while I go have a little chat with my precious sister. Better yet, seek shelter. Ignorant bystanders tend not to survive the apocalypse.”
My heart beat so fast my chest hurt. Never, in my entire life, had I been so furious. While tromping down the hallway leading to Rebecca’s plush corner office, everything seemed coated in a red haze. Like in movies when someone is on drugs or suffers a blow to the head, my visual perception was skewed. The office looked odd, as though walking through a weird, tilted maze.
I didn’t acknowledge any of the staff as I strode toward Rebecca’s door. The faint sounds of their voices, including Ginger’s worried one, barely registered.
I was on a mission. A mission to beat the living shit out of my sister. Our roles were now swapped; I was the lunatic bitch.
Rebecca’s door was closed so I flung it open. Sitting at her fancy desk, decked out in a red power suit, enhanced cleavage peeking out from a low-cut white dress shirt, a set of overpriced, designer reading glasses perched on her nose, Rebecca let out a small, fake gasp.
“Roxy? What’s wrong?”
Rather than respond with words, I picked up my pace, fist and arm at the ready. Rebecca had just enough time to stand before I released my anger right into her face.
Pow!
Fist to the nose.
Blood burst from the explosion of my fury. The force of the punch knocked Rebecca to the floor, sending piles of paper in the air and spilling a cup of coffee all over the desk. I heard someone scream and another call for security. I didn’t care. I’d be arrested for sure, once the fat, slow assholes assigned to protect the building made it up to the thirtieth floor.
But not before I unleashed a world of hurt on Rebecca.
Blood poured from in between her fingers as she covered her nose. Scooting away, she tried to stand up, but I was on her before she had the chance.
Bending down, I grabbed a handful of her over-processed blonde hair and extensions, raised her head just enough to land a solid connection with her eye socket.
Smack!
Yeow! Bone on bone smarts!
“You … fucking … bitch!” I yelled while landing blows with each word. “How could you do this to me? To Carol?”
To my surprise, Rebecca wasn’t crying, or cowering in fear. Instead of being afraid, I realized she was actually laughing. Okay, so she still retained the moniker of Lunatic Bitch, because only a crazy person would cackle like a sick rooster while getting their ass beat.
“Mrs. Wilson? Are you okay?” a man’s voice yelled from the doorway. “Should I call the police?”
The distraction gave Rebecca the opportunity to kick my feet out from under me. I landed hard on my ass right next to her, a handful of her hair still clasped in my fingers.
“I’m fine. Family shit. Shut the door and let us be, Dwight. It’s all over now.”
Rebecca scrambled to her feet, a trail of blood and spit left in her wake. I heard the door shut, grabbed hold of a thin ankle, and twisted. L.B. toppled over, and in a flash, I was on top of her, fingers firmly intertwined in her hair.
“Why?” I asked, followed by slamming her head into the floor. “Why, Rebecca? You’re my sister!”
“Stop smacking me around and I’ll gladly share, Roxy. Gladly. I’ve been waiting a long time for this conversation.”
“You’re certifiable,” I hissed.
“Wrong. You are,” Rebecca responded, letting go of her destroyed nose and latching her fingers around my throat.
Rolling around on the expensive flooring like two crazy women, Rebecca and I fought it out. Hair flew. Fingernails broke. Blood littered the floor. For the most part, I had the upper hand, clawing, kicking, punching the crap out of my mean-as-fuck sister. The fight ended with white hot pain and me gasping for air on the floor, after the bitch’s bony knee connected with my pelvic bone.
(Side note—yes, men crumple into worthless heaps when their twigs and berries take a blow. Though perhaps not as pain
ful to women as when a man takes a whack to the nads, a solid, bony knee hurts like hell when it connects with the vagina. We see stars, too).
Groaning, hands clamped between my throbbing legs, I couldn’t do a thing except listen to Rebecca stand and walk to her desk. I heard her rummaging around, wondering if she was searching for a letter opener or some other sharp object to finish me off with.
“You asked why, so here’s the answer, dear Roxy. It was time to dethrone you as Queen Bee of Cherrywood Estates. It’s my turn to take over. Oh, and I hate you.”
Rolling over to my back, the stars in my vision slowly disappearing, I responded: “Yeah, well the feeling’s mutual, but still doesn’t explain why you did it.”
“You don’t have any idea what it’s like to live in your shadow. I’ve spent my whole life being compared to the great Roxy Rayburn! Jesus, I can’t count how many times I heard I needed to be more like you. Not just from Mom or Dad, but teachers, friends, and my fucking spouse.”
Crawling toward the couch in the corner, I grimaced. “What does Stephen have to do with our feud?”
“Everything! The minute we met, though I don’t think he realized he was doing it, he compared me to you. I worked my ass off to be better, and much more successful, than you. Make people see me rather than Roxy’s little sister. Didn’t work.”
“Make sense, will you?” I muttered, finally on the couch.
“You lived the perfect life, Roxy. A family; beautiful house; perfect child. The great Roxy was always gorgeous, and people, including my husband, drooling over you. Everyone around you tried to mimic every move you made so they could be more like you. When I saw how Mom and Dad rallied around you when you got knocked up and dropped out of school, I even tried to do the same. Again, it didn’t work. I sucked it up though, and just kept pushing myself, forcing all my energy into my career. I don’t have children from lack of trying, I assure you. I wanted your life, but my lady parts had other ideas.”
“So, because you’re a barren bitch, you decided to ruin my life?”
“No, that decision came from a conversation with Stephen the day I found out Ginger was Carl’s newest squeeze.”
Stunned, I looked across the room at Rebecca. She was a mess, but still wore an air of superiority like a trophy. “Wait a minute—you only called to make sure I was home, right? No wonder the courier never showed up! Are you saying—?”
“Yes, to both. I didn’t know about the two of them until Ginger ran in here, crying her eyes out. She thought the baby was her boyfriend’s, not Carl’s. Just to be safe, since she’d been screwing them both, she made them each get tested. To say she wasn’t thrilled with the results is an understatement. She whined and cried, going on and on about how the old man, Professor Davenport—who, by the way, she only screwed to get a better grade—was the father. The part about Mom’s house is true— I just haven’t gotten around to doing it yet. Other things dropped into my lap, requiring all my attention.”
“You saw the opportunity to hurt me and ran with it, right?”
Rebecca tossed the wad of bloody tissues into the trash can by her desk. “No, you fool! I was genuinely upset and shocked, okay, and I’ll admit, a part of me found it funny. I told Ginger to go wash up and calm down then I called Stephen. I had to tell him, ask for advice about what I should do. His response is what made me decide to use the situation as the proverbial knife in the back.”
“Stephen is too nice of a guy to come up with such a mean plan, Rebecca. I’m not buying into what you’re selling.”
“I didn’t say it was his idea, bitch. I said his response gave me the idea. I had to listen to him go on and on about the awful situation, how the news would devastate ‘poor Roxy’ and how surprised he was Carl cheated on you, given the fact you’re so ‘gorgeous’ and ‘every man’s dream.’ Something inside me snapped, so when Ginger returned to my office, I gave her your address.”
While catching my breath, listening to Rebecca spill her morbid reasons for destroying my life, I thought back to our younger years. All the times I’d teased her mercilessly, picked on her for one silly reason or another. Remembered some of the more vicious pranks I’d played on her, laughing when she’d scurry off to her room, crying like a baby. All the arguments about clothes, chores—typical sibling rivalry shit.
Did she know about her toys I’d tortured too?
No, I hadn’t been a very kind older sister, so part of me understood Rebecca’s anger. However, it’s one thing to hold an old, sisterly grudge; quite another to wait for years for payback and do something so hurtful to a blood relative. I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t have found out anyway about the baby, which probably would have opened up the can of worms about all the other women Carl bedded over the years, but that didn’t matter to me. Rebecca used the situation to strike a mortal blow to our relationship, taking our rivalry to a whole new level.
Voices outside the door grew louder, and I sensed our little heart-to-heart was about to be interrupted with my arrest. Rising to my feet, ignoring the throbbing of my broken twat, I walked over and picked up my purse.
“Congratulations, L.B. You won this round, but here’s a newsflash: I don’t play by The Suburbia Handbook any longer. I burned that sucker into a pile of ashes. I live by a new set of rules now. Roxy’s rules. And when the real Roxy comes out of the dark corners inside my mind, things get ugly. And painful. Fast. I’m giving you fair warning, dear sister; you’ll pay for this betrayal. You won’t know when, how, or see it coming, but trust me, it’s on its way. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll wish you were an only child.”
Rebecca sneered, teeth and lips coated in blood. “I’ve wished that my entire life. Bring it, bitch. I’m not afraid of you one bit.”
Standing her ground as I approached, our gazes locked. I stopped inches from Rebecca’s torn-up face. Voice low and tone ominous, I whispered: “You should be.”
Fear flashed for a split second in Rebecca’s eyes, though she recovered quickly. She flipped me the bird, her go-to way of ending a conversation she no longer wished to participate in.
Pointing to her cell on the desk, I added: “Make sure to share a picture of your bloody face. Caption it ‘Sibling Rivalry Never Ends’ hashtag broken nose.”
With the threat out in the open, I left, head held high, though walking a bit strangely, ignoring the stares of countless shocked employees of Baxter, Baxter & Jensen in my wake.
Once in the elevator, mind abuzz with dark thoughts, I realized the old Roxy was completely gone. Bits and pieces of her had been torn away by others, and the last remaining traces were obliterated by a family member. I didn’t think about how the plans forming inside my mind would affect others, or the ramifications for actually carrying out the brutal thoughts.
No, the days of being a serene housewife were over. It was time to go home, grab my journal, and start planning my revenge.
Roxy’s New Rule Number Nine: Make those who hurt me, pay.
With blood.
CHAPTER 7
A Visit Goes Awry
I had to do something to calm down besides go home and drink until I blacked out. What I really wanted, more than anything in the world, was to talk to my father. He’d been the only person who really understood me and I could trust with all my secrets. Daddy knew things about me even my bestie didn’t. Whatever the reason, whether it was because I was the firstborn or our personalities were so similar, we clicked. Two peas in a pod was the expression he’d always say. No one could soothe my nerves like Roger Rayburn, and boy, my nerves were way beyond frazzled. They were burnt to a crisp.
Why in the world did I even consider Rebecca was doing something nice for me out of consideration of our blood ties? Family bonds? It was really my fault what happened at Baxter, Baxter & Jensen, because I let my guard down, allowing my heart and mind an Awww, how kind of my sister! moment.
Never again would I be so incredibly stupid.
Ever.
Once I ma
de it out of the parking deck, it was like I was on autopilot as I zoomed through downtown traffic. Rage and humiliation took over and I was helpless to stop them. The showdown with L.B. played over and over inside my mind. I’d unleashed my fury yet stopped before I killed her, and not just because the bitch busted my pussy.
No, I didn’t continue the fight because I’d been dangerously close to committing murder, and it would have been a mistake to do so with so many witnesses around. I needed to calm down, think like a rational person and plan the perfect revenge for Rebecca Denise Rayburn Wilson, C. P. Fucking A.
In a haze, I was surprised when I found myself in the parking lot of Natalie’s Nature Extravaganza, my favorite local nursery, staring at a display of vibrant ferns.
“Hey, Roxy! Oh, wow, what happened to you?”
How in the world did I forget about my injuries? Dammit! Think, Roxy. Come up with a believable story. I was so out of it I didn’t even put my sunglasses on. “Oh, just a little outpatient nip tuck yesterday, you know? Doing my part to keep the age spots and wrinkles away.”
“Thank goodness! Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude but, for a second there, I thought maybe you’d been in a fight or something!”
My, the little hippie florist still had some brain cells left! The fake laughter from my lips sounded weird. “I’m a mother, not a fighter.”
“Isn’t the expression a lover not a fighter?”
I nodded, praying the little tree-hugger would shut the fuck up. I had things to do, dead people to visit, the downfall of L.B. to plan. “Ha! You’re right. Guess I need more coffee to rev up my tired brain.”
“I was hoping you’d stop by this week. I thought about calling you, yet decided I’d wait until you came by, after what happened. I got in some new roses yesterday. They’re gorgeous and smell heavenly! I set back two for you. I thought you might like one for home and perhaps one for Rachel’s, uh, graveside? I read her obituary in the paper last week. I’m so very sorry.”
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