The Perfect Ruin

by Shanora Williams

  “My luxuries. That’s funny.” I guess I should have considered them luxuries. These new breasts of mine cost me close to twenty grand.

  I took the seat across from him, purposely pressing in the insides of my upper arms to make my chest appear fuller. “They are great, though. All of my friends are in awe. I recommended they come to you if they want a great boob job because you, sir, are amazing.” Who was I kidding? I didn’t have any friends.

  Corey chuckled as he typed away on his keyboard. “That’s good to hear. Have you had any pain while you’ve healed, other than the usual soreness?”

  “Not much.”

  “Any back issues?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about sensitivity of your nipples and areolae? Everything still feel about the same?”

  Why don’t you find out for yourself? I wanted to ask, but instead I nodded my head with an innocent smile. Look, Marriott, I said don’t judge me yet. “I still feel it all. Very much.”

  I didn’t ignore the way he avoided my eyes after my statement, but he was still smiling, revealing those dimples, so that was good. He loved when women flirted with him.

  “Okay, this is all good. You can follow me to the examination room and I’ll give you a quick check.” I followed him through the white door behind his desk. The examination room had walls painted robin’s-egg blue, but the floors and chairs and counters were so white and sterile they were almost blinding.

  I climbed on the table and lowered my straps immediately. Corey pretended not to notice my ministriptease as he slid his fingers into latex gloves. I lay back with a smirk, and he finally faced me.

  “All right. I’m just going to feel around a bit. Make sure your sensitivity is okay.”

  “Sure.” I smiled up at him.

  Look, I know what you’re thinking. What kind of woman purposely gets breast implants from the husband of the woman who ruined her life?

  Me. I’m that kind of woman. Come on, you can’t be surprised by this. I can be petty when I want to be.

  After discovering that Lola Maxwell lived a little less than four hours away from me, I decided I’d move to her. Other than what I had saved for my implants, I’d used the rest of my savings to get an apartment in Miami, and got a retail job at a store close by. Granted, I didn’t stay in the best part of the city, but it would do. It was cheap and temporary.

  The first step of my plan was to meet Corey, get him to remember my face and recognize me, so that way the rest would carry out. The only way I could truly do that was if I came into his place of business with something he could be passionate about. He loved his job, and I had breasts, so it seemed reasonable enough.

  I was saving money for this part of my plan, but it still cost a lot to get in the door with Dr. Maxwell. I had to take out a loan for the surgery, and even after I did, his waiting list was a mile long. Fortunately, someone canceled an appointment and I was given their spot.

  I’d also moved up to a manager’s position at Banana Republic within six months of starting and got paid a few dollars more, which helped with stacking my money and paying off the loan on time. The money didn’t matter right now, though. I was getting closer to Corey and the plan was in motion. The finances would be taken care of later.

  “Everything feels fine,” he murmured to me. He hovered above, kneading the sides of my breasts. He rolled one of my nipples between his forefinger and middle finger, and I purposely let out a gentle moan.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. That was just very sensitive,” I purred.

  He smiled and then moved away. “Well, it’s good you can still feel everything. I’m glad to see you have healed nicely and are happy.”

  I did another giggle, coquettishly sliding my dress back up to conceal my breasts. I had to be a little modest here. I didn’t need him thinking I was some desperate woman who was after him, even though I was, but I still wanted him to know I was an open door.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” he asked, snatching off his gloves and tossing them in the trash.

  “No—none at all.”

  “Well, then, I suppose this is where I thank you for following up with me. I would like to see you in three months as well, just to make sure everything is still okay, but from the looks of it, you may not even need the three-month check. Anyway, if any problems arise, please feel free to call or email me and I’ll be happy to discuss any issues you may have.”

  I climbed off the table. “I will, Dr. Maxwell. Thank you again for everything.”

  “Of course. Have a good afternoon, Ivy.” Ivy. My name sounded so sweet as it spilled from his magenta lips.

  I left the exam room, sliding the strap of my handbag on top of my shoulder with a smile. The girl behind the desk gave me a farewell after I booked my three-month follow-up and then I left.

  When I was inside my car, the air conditioning blowing on my face, I logged onto Instagram and searched for Lola. It was that time of year again. She was taking applications for volunteers for her charity. I would do it right this time.

  I drove to my apartment, logged onto my computer, and found the website to apply.

  This time, my sob story was even better than the last, albeit a complete lie—but it was a lie I knew Lola would be able to relate to. If she didn’t approve my application this time, I was going to have to rework my plan.

  Regardless, I was going to get to know this woman personally, and everything she stood for, no matter what it took to make that happen.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

  For starters, I hated anything that revolved around boxing. What did people find so entertaining about it anyway? Men and women punching each other in the face until they had fat, swollen lips and purple rings around their eyes? Blood all over the floor of the mat? Spitting blood into buckets?

  But kickboxing? Kickboxing was a fucking joke—just a way for a person to feel strong because they could punch and kick a defenseless bag.

  I had a new, expensive-as-hell membership card on my keychain and it was a bright and early Tuesday morning. Kickboxing it was.

  Lola posted often that she loved Tuesdays and Thursdays because that was when she could visit Best Rounds Kickboxing. She went on about how the coach of her class always kicked her butt with a good workout and kept her in tip-top shape.

  She was so full of shit.

  She had a personal trainer and a nutritionist to keep her in shape as well, I was sure. Kickboxing was just another way she could flash her money and pretend to have a busy schedule.

  I didn’t exactly consider myself out of shape. In fact, I worked out four times a week in my apartment. Sit-ups and crunches to keep my abs tight. Squats and lunges to keep my ass perky. Some light lifting with dumbbells to keep my arms slim and toned.

  Before knowing who Lola was, I hadn’t worked out. I was soft around the middle, but I wasn’t fat, per se—more so what people would call “skinny fat.” You always told me I was healthy and slim, Marriott. I know you were just being nice. Doesn’t matter. I needed to work on myself for once, and I’m pleased to tell you that I found a reason to do it.

  When I found Lola, my desire to get fit came at me full speed. I needed to get in shape so I could fit in with women like her. She hung out with slender women who had snatched waists and great asses that I was sure they all paid high-dollar amounts for. They wore expensive jewelry and packed on their makeup heavily.

  Makeup wasn’t a go-to thing for me either, but I learned how to wing my eyeliner and use concealer to cover the dark circles under my eyes from all my sleepless nights, so that was a start, and it was better than nothing.

  Xavier had liked me natural—no makeup. I have to give it up to him, Marriott. He wasn’t all that great a man, but he did help me gain a smidge of confidence in myself when he made remarks like that.

  A natural beauty, he’d call me. You don’t need all that makeup like some of these other bitches do
, L’il I. You’re good the way you are.

  Yeah, he seemed nice, like you said when I first told you about him, but being with him was like having constant whiplash. One minute I was the sexiest woman alive and the next I was a dirty, ugly, basic bitch. To this day, I can say that I don’t miss being with him.

  Grabbing my gym bag from the passenger seat, I let out a ragged breath and made my way across the parking lot to the kickboxing studio. When I had first walked into the studio to sign up, I’d hated the smell of it. Leather and sweat masked with some kind of perfume-y fragrance.

  The walls were black, as well as the large mats on the floor. The punching bags were royal purple, and definitely vomit-inducing on their own. Nothing in this place matched. It was like it was all just thrown together, and I was curious what attracted Lola to it. Perhaps it was a recommendation. Or maybe she knew the owner and got perks. You never knew with that woman, there was always a catch.

  “Hello, Ivy!” Chanel, the lead fitness instructor, greeted me as I walked in. She wore a pair of yoga pants with the Best Rounds Kickboxing logo on the thigh and a tank top that revealed her toned, russet arms. “I’m so glad you could join me on this lovely Tuesday! Go on and put your stuff in a locker in the back and meet me back on the mat. We’ll be getting started soon.”

  “Thanks, Chanel.” I forced a smile at her, then turned away with an eye roll. She was too damn chipper for me, but I couldn’t be too hard on her. She’d squeezed me in and had given me a membership even though spots were limited.

  This place normally reserved spaces for upper-class people, which I was not, but with a perfect woe-is-me story about how I used to be the fat girl in high school who needed to empower herself, Chanel slid me in.

  I wasn’t fat in high school. I never had been in my life, but lying came with the territory. Hell, some nights I didn’t even get to eat as a teen. You’d feed me. Pick up a burger and a shake for me so I could eat during my therapy sessions.

  I walked to the back where the tan lockers were, but came to a rapid halt when I saw a person already standing back there. Damn. I thought I’d beaten her here. I didn’t see her car outside. She drove a blue Tesla every single day, but I suppose she’d switched things up and gotten a new car to ride around in now.

  Lola Maxwell was bent over with a bare foot on the bench in front of her, tugging on the leg of her yoga pants to adjust them. I hated that she was here so soon. I figured surely she’d prance into the studio late with some excuse about being so swamped and busy, like all rich people do, and I could study her as she trotted around in all her artificial glory.

  She picked up her head, as if realizing she wasn’t alone, and a smile spread across her glossed lips. The photos she’d posted on Facebook and Instagram hadn’t done her justice. If anything, she was even more stunning up close.

  I hadn’t been this close to her before. I’d always watched her from a distance, seated in my car across the parking lot or coasting by her office, but to see her standing right there almost left me stuck in place. There was a sudden urge to say something to her—the rage building up inside me and clawing at my throat.

  Do you know what you did to me?

  Do you realize what you’ve done?

  Do you know who I am?

  You ruined my life, you know that much!

  I hate you!

  But that would have been too easy, and I hadn’t spent a year plotting just to let it all go to shit with five little sentences. No. I needed more out of this.

  I envied her skin and how it glowed with warm undertones, and how her teeth were so stark white they could probably blind you in the sunlight.

  “Oh, hello,” Lola said to me, still smiling. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you around before.”

  It hit me in that moment, Marriott. This woman I despised so much didn’t know me at all. I’d been bracing myself for the day I would collide with her world, waiting for the moment she’d see me and automatically recognize me, guilt clouding her eyes and sweat beading on her forehead.

  But she’d never seen me—I mean, she couldn’t have. She’d sent someone to tell me her name, get it off her conscience, but she’d obviously never seen me before, otherwise she wouldn’t have been smiling in my face.

  Granted, I had changed my look. Shorter hair. More makeup. Nose piercing was gone, but the changes weren’t all that dramatic.

  This was good. I had one up on her.

  I blinked quickly and pulled myself out of my stupor. “Hi. Yes, I’m new. Signed up last week, and I’m so nervous.” I walked to a locker that was past hers and opened it. Through the corner of my eye, I watched her drop her bare foot and stand straight.

  “Oh, don’t be nervous. You made a great choice by signing up. Chanel is amazing. The first couple of classes are pretty brutal, but once your body knows what to expect, it gets better. Not easier, but better.” She laughed, and it was a harmonious laugh that could make any person feel warm and happy. But not me. Fuck her and her laugh.

  “That’s good to know.” I stretched my lips to smile at her when really I wanted to pounce on top of her and slap her for being such a fake bitch.

  “See you on the mat.” Lola turned around with her blue gloves in hand, and I watched her walk away. Hell, even her walk was elegant. Everything about her screamed elegance and I couldn’t stand it.

  When I heard her talking to Chanel, both of them squealing with laughter, I walked close to where she had been standing and checked each locker until I came across the one she’d dumped her belongings into.

  She didn’t have much with her. Just her cell phone, her car keys, and a pair of black Adidas slides. I picked up her phone, but of course it needed a passcode or her face to get into it. Her screen saver was an image of her and Corey standing in front of a crystal-blue ocean, smiling like they had no worries in the world. I wanted to slam the phone to the ground and crack it, but I resisted the urge.

  I heard someone coming and put down the phone, shutting the locker rapidly and then grabbing my gloves and making my way to the mat. A Caucasian woman with dark hair smiled at me on her way back and I gave her a tight-lipped smile in return.

  When I walked out, Chanel instructed me to place my gloves on top of whichever bag I wanted to kickbox with for the day. I chose a bag that was two away from Lola’s blue gloves.

  Class started, and Lola wasn’t kidding. The class was brutal. All the burpees and push-ups and sit-ups were likely going to kill me and were making me lightheaded. By the time we could take a water break, my face was hot, and I was drenched with sweat in places I didn’t even know I could sweat.

  Turns out, that was only the warm-up. We started our next round, which was the kickboxing one, but it was much easier to punch the hell out of a bag and pretend it was Lola than do full-body workouts on the floor.

  I glanced over every so often at Lola, who was punching her bag with stealth and grace. I tried mimicking the way she punched, but I wasn’t good at it. Chanel watched me a lot because I was new, which irritated me because I hated being watched. She taught me how to roundhouse kick, not even realizing how badly I wanted to roundhouse her ass.

  Then the partner drills began. We could pick partners, and to my surprise, Lola looked at me with a smile and said, “Come on, new girl. Let’s do this.” I put on a sweet, bashful smile on my way to her.

  Oh, Lola Maxwell wants to partner with me? What a dream this is! Not.

  I knew any girl in South Beach would have thought the world of this, but I wasn’t any girl. Still, it was good she wanted to partner with me. Perhaps it meant she saw something in me . . . or maybe she did know exactly who I was and was pretending not to.

  I had to be careful.

  Partner drills started, and Chanel instructed us on what to do before we got into it.

  “So, do you live around here?” Lola asked, lightly punching my glove with hers for our first drill. We were exchanging light punches on each other’s gloves.

&
nbsp; “I do, yes. I live about fifteen minutes away.”

  “Oh really? What part of the city, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Close to Liberty City,” I panted, punching her glove when it was my turn. Liberty City was bad news and she’d know it. Anyone who lived around that area clearly didn’t have much money. I wanted her to know that about me from the start. I was poor. I needed assistance in any way, shape, or form.

  “Oh, that’s cool,” she chimed in. Really, Marriott? Please tell me how it was cool to live near Liberty City? Oh, I’ll tell you how—it fucking wasn’t. “I live close to the beach.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She really had the nerve to be modest. I’m sure what she really wanted to say was that she lived on the beach, in a mansion with six bedrooms.

  I said, “I really love your hair! I’ve always wanted to dye my hair that honey color but never thought highlights like that would look good on me.”

  “Oh, thank you! Yeah, I’ve had this custom color for a while now. I’ve been thinking about switching it up lately, though. Maybe to something darker.” She winked.

  Chanel told us our time was up and Lola dropped her arms, placing her hands on her waist to momentarily catch her breath. “I think your hair is lovely the way it is, though. Natural suits you.”

  I provided a smile—the same smile I’d practiced in the mirror—and then we both sat to stretch with Chanel.

  “So . . . um . . . don’t you run the Ladies with Passion project?” I asked in a quiet voice.

  Lola’s hazel eyes lit up. “I do! How’d you know?”

  “Well, I’m just a little obsessed with that charity, is all.” I laughed, and waved it off like my obsession meant nothing. Little did she know how deep my obsession ran.

  “You are? That is so amazing to hear!” Lola reached for her foot to stretch her thigh and back.

  “I especially love how you bring all those new mothers together after their babies are born and have parties for them. It’s such a good thing you do. Makes women feel like they’re safe in this world with a newborn, you know?”