by Stasia Black
“Stop. Isobel, I don’t even know what you’re talking ab—”
“What, you tripped and your dick just accidently fell into Vanessa? I saw your fucking texts, asshole.”
Jason pulled back, finally dropping silent.
“Get the fuck out of my fucking house!” she screamed right in his face.
“Okay, okay,” he said. He reached for the shower knob. “Just let me finish washing my hair and I’ll be—”
“Did you not hear me? I said get the fuck out now!” She grabbed his bicep and jerked him toward the tub’s edge.
He slipped and fell, landing hard on his ass.
“Christ! What the fuck, Iz?” he cried as he scrambled to his feet, slipping one more time before he finally managed to get out of the tub, his hands moving to cover his crotch. Was he afraid she’d want to get a kick in? Not a bad idea.
But he was already backing out of the bathroom and hurrying toward his suitcase. He dressed faster than she would have thought possible. When he sat on the bed to put on his tennis shoes, she just shouted, “Out!” again. He obviously got the picture because he grabbed the shoes, his suitcase, and his phone from the floor and then he ran out of the room.
In another few seconds, she heard the front door slam. Good fucking riddance. She hoped more than just his screen was broken so he couldn’t call an Uber.
She walked back to her bedroom, almost in a daze.
But after several more seconds, everything that had just happened sank in.
Jason had cheated on her.
Jason didn’t love her anymore.
Dad was gone.
She was all alone.
Right as the gut-wrenching realization hit, she happened to look over and catch sight of herself in her full-length mirror.
She dropped the sheet she’d been carrying around, just to torture herself.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Body dysmorphic disorder. When she looked in mirrors, she never saw what was really there. Even if she weighed only ninety-five pounds, she still saw a fat pig. She had weighed ninety-five pounds—very briefly—right before she’d gone into the treatment facility at sixteen, surrounded by a ton of other skeletal girls all convinced they were fat too.
For a while when she’d been away at college, she thought she could change things—that she could change herself. Just like she’d thought she could finally fix her relationship with Dad by coming home and spending time with him before the end.
But if the last week had taught her anything, it was that things never changed. Dad died believing her stepmother’s side of the story. And she was always going to be ugly, screwed up Isobel. She avoided scales like she tried to avoid mirrors, but barely any of the pants she’d brought home from Cornell fit anymore.
Without the anger that had been animating her for the past ten minutes, she felt completely empty. She wanted to drop to the floor right there and just…stop. It was all too hard. She couldn’t do this anymore.
Instead, her feet started moving.
First to her dresser. She put on her underwear and pajamas mechanically. The bedrooms were on the third floor of the Upper East Side brownstone and she clutched the banister as she hurried downstairs. She knew where she was going even as she hated herself for it. Nothing ever changed—so why fight fate?
Like a magnet, she was drawn quickly toward the kitchen. It was a pristine room with white marble countertops and dark espresso colored cabinets. Isobel pulled out the ice cream from the double refrigerator. She never bought it but it was always here. She shook her head, knowing it was her stepmother trying to sabotage her and hating that she was giving in. But seriously, what was the fucking point, anyway? She was a sucker for ice cream. Sugary, addictive, with a high calorie count? Sign her up.
She grabbed a wooden stirring spoon and ate the chocolate chip cookie dough straight out of the container.
She finished one pint and was halfway through another before disgust with herself sent her running to the trash can underneath the sink. Opening the cabinet, she yanked out the can. She knelt on the dark hardwood floor and then her finger was down the back of her throat before she could even think all the way through what she was doing. She retched and retched into the trashcan until all the ice cream came back up. Then she sat back against the cabinet, shoving the trashcan away in disgust, wiping her mouth with her forearm.
“Goddammit!” she screamed in frustration, furious at herself. She hadn’t binged and purged for four years before coming home to be with her dad. And now this was the second time this week since the funeral.
She pulled her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She was about to give into a good sob fest—not unusual for her lately, she would go on random crying jags what felt like every half hour, even before her dad died—when she saw something strange.
The cabinet door under the sink was still open from when she’d grabbed the trashcan. And tucked in the back of the cabinet behind the Ajax, Windex, and dish soap was a tall container of… was that…?
Isobel blinked back her tears and leaned in, pushing aside the other cleaners to better see the big plastic bottle.
What the—?
Why was there a container of protein powder hidden at the back of the sink?
Isobel stared at the bottle in bewilderment. Was it Dad’s from before he got sick? But why on earth…? It wasn’t like Dad was into pumping iron. He’d go jogging occasionally, but she thought this kind of stuff was usually for guys trying to build up huge muscles.
She tugged out the bottle and unscrewed the cap. It was more than half empty.
She glanced back inside the cabinet and froze. Right beside where the protein powder had been was a bottle of the special cognac her stepmother drank—the shit cost six hundred bucks a bottle and Catrina was always paranoid and accusing Isobel of drinking it when she wasn’t looking.
The truth was Isobel had tried it once but then never again because it tasted like donkey piss.
But looking back and forth between the cognac and the protein powder, she froze, her teeth grinding.
That bitch.
“So he cheated on you.”
Speak of the devil.
Isobel’s back went stiff at her stepmother’s voice. She got to her feet, not wanting Catrina to have her at a disadvantage by towering over her.
“Why am I not surprised?” Catrina sounded almost bored as she stood in the kitchen doorway. It was ten o’clock at night but Catrina was still perfectly made up, her thin former model’s frame standing erect, elegant and dignified in a pale green silk robe. Even in her early fifties, Catrina was still an undeniably beautiful woman. A fact that she’d never let Isobel forget ever since she’d married her father. Isobel had only been ten at the time.
“You’ve become such a fat pig lately. Did you really think he’d stick around?”
Isobel’s jaw locked and she looked back down at the open container of protein powder, the realization of what Catrina had done lighting her blood on fire.
“You’ve gained, what, thirty pounds since you came home to be with your father?” Catrina asked, voice needling. “He was worried about you, you know. He talked about you so much at the end. All he wanted was his beautiful little girl back.” Catrina let out an incredulous little huff and Isobel’s hands balled into fists. She would not be goaded into reacting.
“Of course a father is blind to his daughter’s flaws. You were a little porky pie back then too, weren’t you? But even he couldn’t deny what was in front of his face when you visited him every day. Who will love my Isobel when I’m gone, he’d ask me, looking like she does?”
“Shut up!” Isobel glared at her stepmother and then she reached down and grabbed the protein powder container. “You’ve been adding this to my morning smoothies, haven’t you?” She’d realized it right before Catrina walked in the room. It was the only thing that made sense.
Upset at her unexplained weight gain since coming home, Isobel had go
ne back to her old habits of counting her calories religiously. She hadn’t struggled with her eating disorder for years. Being away at college, out of this toxic environment, it had been so much easier to establish healthy eating and exercise habits.
But as soon as she got back here and Catrina’s constant verbal digs started up again, along with the unexplained weight gain, plus the emotional stress of everything with Dad, the old obsessions had started coming back.
She hated that she could still be so weak. She’d assumed that she’d overcome all this shit for good when she kicked it the first time.
So as a part of trying to get it all under control again, she made a green veggie and fruit smoothie each night so she could just grab it and go the next morning on her way to the hospital.
But if Catrina had been adding protein powder to her smoothies, that would explain the weight gain.
Catrina’s eyes widened at seeing the container in Isobel’s hands, but then her features settled back into a calm mask of superiority. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Sounds to me like you’re looking to blame everyone else for your lack of self-control, just like always.”
“Then again, you always were just looking for attention. What was it Dr. Rubenstein used to say? Poor little Isobel acts out and tells elaborate lies so people will notice her because she got addicted to the attention people paid her after her mommy killed herself. Though,” she sighed, “by the end, even he admitted crazy might just be in your DNA. But still, isn’t part of your therapy program taking responsibility for your own problems?”
How dare she— To bring up Dr. fucking Rubenstein—
Isobel screamed and threw the container to the ground, ignoring the powder that flew out of it as it fell.
It wasn’t enough, though. Not nearly enough.
She wanted to grab the pots that hung from hooks on the ceiling and fling them at the walls. She wanted to smash the coffee maker to the tile floor. Break it all. Tear it all fucking down—
Catrina tutted, then shook her head at Isobel. “Oh darling, I promised Richard I’d take care of you after he was gone. He worried you might slip back into your…” she leaned in and whispered, “old habits.”
She mimed sticking her finger down her throat and Isobel’s hands squeezed into fists so tight her nails cut into her palms. She needed to leave. To get the hell out of here before she did something she regretted. She turned to go but Catrina’s voice echoed across the kitchen.
“Is poor Isobel going to run away now? You think you can just escape your problems like that? By running?” Catrina made a tutting noise. “That’s a coward’s way of coping. Then again, your mom took the easy way out too. Hanging herself from the ceiling fan like she did.” She shook her head. “And she was what, thirty years old?”
“You’re almost twenty-five now, aren’t you? Everyone always said you’re so much like her. It’s cute you try to fight it but eventually you’re going to have to give into the inevitable. Frankly, I think Richard was glad to go before he had to see you institutionalized again.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Isobel spun back around and flew at her stepmother. Her hands wrapped around Catrina’s throat. She slammed the older woman down against the counter. “Shut up, shut up!” Rage like she’d never known burned so hot, Isobel could barely breathe.
Poison. The woman was poison.
Every day her insults chipped away at Isobel. First when she was just a little girl. All throughout adolescence. Even when her father was dying. Still every single day, Catrina never let up. And now to find out she was actively undermining her recovery, trying to trigger her old demons—!
Isobel screamed and squeezed harder.
Catrina smiled at her at first, even while she was choking. Like she was laughing at Isobel, even in this.
But as Isobel kept squeezing, finally fear came into Catrina’s eyes. Catrina’s hands flailed, trying to latch onto Isobel’s wrists and pull her off.
Isobel was stronger, though. She felt fucking triumphant. Catrina would never torment her again.
But then she blinked.
What was she—
She looked down in horror at her hands.
Her hands that were around another person’s throat.
Choking the life out of her.
Isobel let go of Catrina and stumbled backwards.
Catrina fell to the floor, hoarsely gasping in huge gulps of air between coughing fits.
Holy Jesus, what had she just done?
Isobel looked at her hands in disbelief. Had she really almost just… Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.
“They’ll put you away for this,” Catrina gasped, still clutching her throat.
Isobel turned and ran out of the kitchen.
Run.
She had to get out of here.
Run.
Right now.
Catrina would call the police any minute. They’ll put you away. Catrina hated her. And Isobel had just given her stepmother the perfect opportunity to get rid of her for good.
An attempted murder charge.
Isobel felt sick as she fled upstairs to get her purse and car keys.
She was about to pick up her phone to toss it in her purse when she stopped at the last second. It was easy for people to track phones, right?
Shit, was she really thinking like that? Like a fugitive?
She looked toward the ceiling. How had everything gotten fucked sideways so quickly? She shook her head and took a quick breath in, trying to steady herself. There was no time. No time for thinking. No time for anything.
She jammed some clothes and shoes in a bag, grabbed her keys, and was almost out her door when she stopped.
“Shit.”
She turned around and ran back into the bathroom. She’d almost forgotten her anti-depressants. She grabbed the pill bottle from the medicine cabinet. Had she even taken them today? With as fucked up as her moods had been lately, the last thing she needed was to be screwing with her medication.
She unscrewed the lid and poured one of the small pills into her hand. Not that it was helping much. She’d been so stable for years and then for it to all go down the shitter so drastically—
She reached for a glass of water and as she did, she knocked the bottle of pills over, spilling them out on the counter.
“Fuck!” She did not have time for this. Had Catrina already called the cops?
But as she started scooping the little pills back into the bottle, she paused. Some of them didn’t look right.
A bunch of the tablets had a little line down the middle where you could split them in half if you needed to. But about half of them didn’t have the line.
“What the hell?”
She reached down and flipped one of the non-lined pills over, thinking maybe they were just lined on one side.
But nope, the lined ones were lined on both sides and others were smooth on both sides.
Isobel’s eyes flipped back and forth between the two pills, nothing making sense for a long moment.
But like downstairs, it eventually dawned on her and she swung in the direction of her door. The same killing fury as earlier made her fists shake all over again.
“Bitch!” she screamed.
It would have served Catrina right if Isobel hadn’t stopped earlier. She’d been fucking with Isobel’s medication in addition to adding the protein powder to her smoothies?
Isobel’s hand shook as she swept all the pills back into the bottle. Had Catrina switched out half her meds with sugar pills so she’d only be taking half her regular dosage? Or were they something worse? Something meant to make her moods more volatile?
Catrina was a vicious hell-whore, that was all Isobel knew.
She stared at the pill bottle.
It was evidence.
For once she had evidence. It wasn’t just Catrina’s word against hers.
Then she started laughing hysterically.
Because no, that wasn’t true. This wasn’t any d
ifferent than it had ever been. What did Isobel have? A bottle of some unknown pills? With her luck, Catrina would get her booked on assault and possession for whatever the hell was in this bottle. After all, there was nothing tying the pills to Catrina. Did Isobel think she’d find Catrina’s fingerprints on the bottle or something?
Even if she did, that was hardly a smoking gun. Catrina could just say that she’d picked up the bottle from the pharmacy for her stepdaughter, so of course her fingerprints were on it.
Isobel was well and truly fucked. She hiccupped, something between a laugh and a sob. Her hands shook as she pushed her hair out of her face.
Back to the original plan. Get the hell out of here.
And go where, exactly?
Fuck knew. She’d figure that part out later.
She ran to the other room and picked up the bag she’d haphazardly stuffed full of clothes and her purse. On a whim, she also grabbed her riding boots from her closet since the time she’d been happiest in her life was when she’d worked in the stables near their house in New Hampshire. She clutched it all to her chest as she ran down the stairs and out the back door.
Catrina hadn’t been anywhere in sight, thank God.
Isobel ran toward her little Toyota parked in their narrow garage. Her hands were trembling so badly, it took her three tries to get her key in the lock. She finally managed. She jumped in the car. A few seconds later, she had it in reverse and was peeling out onto the street.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself as she wove through Manhattan’s night traffic. “Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay.”
So what if she had no clue where she was going? Starting from the shit show she’d just left behind, things could only be looking up from here, right?
Right?
Chapter 2
HUNTER
“It’s good to see you out and about, Hunter,” Bubba said, looking Hunter over as he sat his beer in front of him.
