“I think you should deal with it yourself.”
“Well,” Iris sighed, “I’m off. You two get some sleep.”
“Night, folder whore,” the blond said.
“Goodnight, Mama Bear,” the brunette said.
“Night,” Iris said, waving a hand.
The blond and Iris didn’t get along, that was clear. But the ‘mama bear’ endearment from the other woman showed that there was affection there, like Dahlia had said. They trusted Iris. She was one of them, after all. It would be beneficial to have Iris on my side to smooth over the transition.
But that didn’t mean that I trusted her. Everyone was selfish, and while I admired Iris’s drive, she had proven that she had a goal in mind. She wanted to keep the failing Dahlia District the exact way it was, and I wanted to do what was best for everyone involved, including her. I wanted to make it a profitable club again, one that she could work at, if she chose to stay.
Convincing her to see my side of things would be a challenge, one I was looking forward to breaking.
I watched her walk through the halls on the livestream. Iris, I thought. My discordant little flower. What fun I’ll have with you.
CHAPTER 3
Iris
The next morning, or should I say, afternoon, I stumbled through the Greenhouse, past the dressing rooms and dorm rooms to the communal kitchen. I opened the refrigerator. On my shelf, there was a small angel food cake, a tub of cream cheese, a muffin—and there should have been a bottle of tangerine juice.
A few of the servers were sitting at the round table, a painting of a dark, foggy ocean hanging above them. Melissa, a friend of mine and a server from the club who had mysteriously disappeared, had painted it before she left. Though I loved the bleakness of her art, seeing it right then put a sour taste in my mouth. I was sick of people leaving the Dahlia District. I wanted to take it down like I had ripped off the poster of the flower field.
But it wasn’t Melissa’s or her art work’s fault.
“Mama Bear,” one of the servers said, “You look—”
“Has anyone seen my tangerine juice?” I asked, cutting her off. The three servers stared at me. “It comes in a clear bottle. It’s darker than orange juice, but it would basically look the same. Maybe someone drank it on accident?” They shook their heads. “No one has seen it?”
“I think I saw Kendall drinking orange juice this morning,” one of them offered.
I sighed. Kendall. Great.
“Thanks,” I said.
I walked through the narrow corridor to Kendall’s room, debating whether I should go put on my latex and boots, get out the bamboo cane, and beat the hell out of her, getting revenge for the years of abuse she had put me through. But no… It was stupid to get upset about tangerine juice.
But it wasn’t stupid. I had to have it specially delivered here, paying a stupid fee, and it was something that reminded me of Teagen. We had tried it together for the first time and drinking it made me feel like maybe she’d open up the back door in the kitchen and slide in any minute, like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t run away with a mobster.
Kendall whipped around at my presence, her wavy blond hair smacking her in the face. Sure enough, right on Kendall’s dresser was an empty plastic bottle, with the tangerine juice label. My tangerine juice.
“What?” she asked.
“Why do you mess with me?” I said, exasperation leaking through my tone. “What happened between us was years ago. We’re adults now. Why do you feel it necessary to—”
“What are you even talking about?”
I took a deep breath. “Why did you steal my juice?”
“I didn’t steal it. I drank it,” she said. “You make an enemy with me, you make it for life.” As if breaking my ribs and cutting off my hair when we were teenagers wasn’t enough. She sneered, her nose pinching shut. “You proved that when you sent your little cunt of a friend to fight me.”
She meant Melissa. “That had nothing to do with me.”
“So you’re a liar too?” Kendall said. “I know she was friends with you. I know that you told her about me.”
And for once, I saw what she meant. “Okay. Yes. Melissa was my friend. But she was looking out for you, trying to warn you about—”
“I don’t give a fuck about what she was trying to warn me about. I won’t get into another fight,” she paused, lifting her hands in frustration, “I like it here too much to get kicked out. But you and I? We’re enemies, bitch. Fair and square.”
I was taller than Kendall by an inch or two, but Kendall was bigger. She had more muscles than I did. But at least now, more than ten years after we had lived together in the group home, I knew I could hold my own, at least for a while.
“You are wasting both of our time,” I snapped. “We wouldn’t be talking if you hadn’t taken my drink.”
“What’s your problem? You mad that your best friend left you?”
“Yes,” I said. I couldn’t help but be honest right then. “I’m pissed.” Teagen was gone. I had no way of contacting her on my own. I was left at the mercy of gift packages and random phone calls because Teagen had decided that running away with her criminal dream man was a good idea. It wasn’t. It was a horrible idea. And now? Now I was alone. Haley was gone. Melissa was gone. Even Scarlett, the random server that popped in and out quicker than anyone I had ever seen in the Dahlia District, was gone. There was no one here that I could talk to about why I was upset that the Dahlia District was being torn apart, limb by limb, right before our very eyes. No one that would get it. So I couldn’t help but be honest. “Yes, I’m mad,” I said. And I was hurt. And exhausted. “And I would really, really appreciate it, if you left my damn juice—”
A soft hand landed on my shoulder. I turned around. Dahlia’s platinum blond hair hung straight by her face, her eyes narrowed on me.
“Iris,” she said, her voice raspy. “Can you help me for a minute? I need you in my office.” I nodded, unable to say any words without a switch going off. “Good to see you, Kendall. Your dance the other night was lovely, by the way.”
“Thank you, gorgeous,” Kendall said, her voice suddenly sweet.
I balled my fists, then straightened my fingers and nodded to myself, my chin bobbing up and down, trying to slow my racing thoughts. Dahlia was holding a brown cardboard box, likely getting a few items from the dressing room that she had lent to various servers over the years. We exited through the back door in the kitchen to the open air, our footsteps breaking through the chirps of birds in the nearby woods.