Rabbit Blood

Chapter 38 - Rosie and Bright

Next morning, Leslie saw unread texts from Ginerva, most of them curses. Ginerva. The two of them would have to talk, and not over the phone either. She knocked on the door of Ginerva's room - early, to ensure the best chance of catching her - and she answered in a long fluffy bathrobe. Her beak twisted into an icy scowl, but otherwise she was in one piece.

"How are you?" Leslie wanted to know.

"Been better," her friend replied, brandishing her phone. "I emailed Charlie about what happened. No response yet."

Leslie's eyes swept the corridor as she asked, "Can you do an unsend/replace? I can't say why, but just please... take me out of the story, that's all I'm asking."

Ginerva looked confused, then laughed coldly. "I'm not changing my fucking story! She's probably read it by now; she'll think I'm a liar if I start retracting shit."

What about me? Leslie thought. What if Alastor hears about my second car crash in two lifetimes? Hotel owners talked, after all. They discussed the running of the place, troublesome guests... Leslie imagined the co-founders gathering for a late-evening powwow, to discuss Kain's punishment. She pictured Alastor mulling over his coffee, already factoring Leslie's near-death experience into future meetings. Negotiations could be taken to the next level. Try to endure, Leslie; pain is fleeting. This is no worse than your crash.

And that wasn't to mention the car-related pranks he could spring, now that Leslie's motorphobia was complete. Alastor must have a soundboard full of revving engines, squealing tires and mashing steel. Maybe there was still time. There was a chance Charlie hadn't checked her inbox.

Leslie reached out. "Lemme just-!"

But Ginerva snatched her phone away. "Oh fuck off! I want Kain to catch hell for this! Y'know how bad my legs got chewed up after I bailed?"

"No," Leslie admitted.

Ginerva's scowl deepened. "No, 'cause you stayed in the car for some reason. Like maybe you and Kain have the same fucking fetish for killing yourselves. Is that why you don't want to be involved in my story, huh?"

Leslie's eyebrows shot skywards. "What? You're accusing me? You're the one who invited me on your date in the first place!"

"AND YOU COULD'VE TOLD ME HE WAS THE FUCKING PAIN GUY!" Ginerva exploded, poking Leslie in the chest. She was crying now, sudden, angry tears. "I talked to Angel! You both saw what he was like and you didn't tell me! Just let me get in the fucking car... that's a great prank, sis! Really fucking funny!"

Leslie blinked, confused. Then she remembered Kain at the talent show: his poem about the joy of self-injury, and his bellyflop onto the hardwood floor. The pain guy. Ginny was right. How could she forget such a thing? The twinge of guilt was followed by a flash of righteous, sleep-derived fury at being likened to a masochist freak like Kain.

"Ginny, it... slipped my mind, that's all."

"Bitch, how?"

"I wouldn't throw us knowingly into the jaws of death! I'm not like that!"

"What even are you like?" Ginerva said, still poking at Leslie with one taloned finger. "You don't tell me about your life; you quit work without telling me and leave me on my own. And now you show up at the ass-crack of dawn to beg me to shut up about a fucking accident you could've prevented? You're being real fucking suspicious, Les. Like the opposite of a friend."

Leslie was so shocked, she couldn't move. She stood dumbly, like a totem pole, wrestling the instinct to poke Ginerva back and call her an audacious cow with ugly leggings. Before she could do so, the door shut in her face. As Leslie remained rooted to the spot, struggling to process, she was aware of some fellow guests with their noses hooked around the door-frames, eavesdropping on the commotion.