Silent No More(35)
I go back inside the apartment grabbing my two cameras and a black and white photograph hanging on the wall. Looking behind me, I take in the apartment one last time. Luke can keep all the furniture, dishes, and bed. I hate all this traditional-style crap he picked out. I’m going to enjoy decorating a new place.
I leave my key on the coffee table and head out the door. Walking around to the front of my car, I open the trunk. I know it’s called a boot, but I just can’t call it that. Once I have my equipment stored away, I hear a voice yelling my name close behind me. I already know who it is before I turn around.
“What the fuck do you want, Allison?” I ask through clenched teeth. I hate her and I’ve never hated anyone in my life. I really don’t like this feeling.
“Shannon, please talk to me. I’m sorry. I really am. You are my best friend. Please talk to me,” she pleads. Is this bitch for real?
“We are no longer best friends! Hell, we are no longer friends! Of all the people to do this, I never would have imagined it would have been you!” I shout a little too loudly. I really don’t like this. My neighbors can probably hear.
“I wanted to tell you about what happened. I did, honest. I just didn’t know how, and then it just continued…” she starts to trails off.
“It was more than a onetime occurrence?” I ask with a dazed look, bile making its way toward my throat. I’m shocked. Yeah, Stacy made me question this for a brief moment, but Allison just confirmed it.
“I love him, Shannon, but I never meant to hurt you. I swear I didn’t. I love you too; we’re like sisters,” she says with tears forming in the bottom of her eyes. Now, I’m pissed the fuck off. I don’t care if she cries. She needs to cry. She needs to hurt the way she hurt me.
“A sister wouldn’t have done this,” I yell. “You two can go fuck yourselves! I don’t care about Luke. You can fucking have him. In fact, it was pretty eye opening walking in on him cheating, but you...I’ll never forgive you,” I say, feeling all the hurt coming back up to the surface as I yank the driver’s door open. I jump in the driver’s seat and slam the door in her face. She is lucky I’m not beating her ass right now. I shove the key into the ignition; I turn it with a quick flick of my wrist before I change my mind. One last look at her, and I see Allison is still crying. I hear her ask me not to leave, to stay and talk to her. She is whimpering out an “I’m sorry,” as I pull out of the parking lock. What she doesn’t understand is that what she did, what they did together is…un-fucking-forgivable!
It’s only 11:30, still morning, and I don’t want to go see Nick angry, so I decide to go shopping for a few hours. Buying new things always brightens my day. I head to the strip mall. The same one my gallery is in.
I buy more lingerie at Dentelle. A girl can never have too many panties. I walk past a trendy dog store and decide to go in, thinking I might get a few treats for Niko and Charmin. I walk down each aisle grabbing things I like.
I leave, having purchased a bag of dog treats, another ball−so they each have one−two huge, plush dog pillows and two new collars. I noticed Niko’s looked old and Charmin doesn’t even have one. How is he going to take her on a walk if she doesn’t have a collar?
After stopping by Starbucks to get a Mocha Frappuccino Grande, I go by the gallery to check on Jenny. I walk in carrying all my bags and coffee.
I see her helping Mr. Chaney with his order. I think it’s the framed photograph she was wrapping up on Thursday afternoon. He’s been a client of mine for a few months now. He has at least three of my photos in his home, and one in his office. This will make his fifth.
He and Jenny look at me when I walk in through the door. Jenny is surprised to see me, and it’s showing across her face. I’m never here on Saturday, unless she is sick or on vacation. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I was shopping. Decided to stop by,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders. “Hello, Mr. Chaney,” I turn greeting the customer. “How are you today?” I ask as I sit my heavy bags on the counter.
“Shannon, will you please call me Jeffery? I hate it when you call me Mr. Chaney. It’s too formal. You make me think we aren’t friends,” he says while walking up to me and giving me a tight hug. Awkward. I pat him on the back, like I would a dog. I didn’t realize we were friends. He is always sweet to me, probably only a few years older too, but as a client, I prefer to call him by this surname. Plus, he’s always a little too touchy-feely, so I don’t want him to get the wrong impression.