The hallway is silent, save for the sound of her own heartbeat. As she walks past the fourth door, she hears it creak. Nyasha wills it not to open. Her swollen right cheek and tired limbs aren’t in the mood for a chit chat.
But since she doesn’t possess super mind control powers, she wipes what is left of the smudged burgundy color off her lips and chin and holds her breath. No one comes through.
She flicks on the lights in her apartment. The phone beeps automatically and activates the voicemail.
‘You have two new messages.’
She removes her bumper jacket and tosses it on a chair.
‘I am worried about you. I don’t know if it is something I said or did the other night, but I am sorry. Seeing you a for a couple of nights isn’t enough. Please call me as soon as possible. I hope you got my gift. I miss you.’’
A bouquet of dead red roses flies out of the window.
‘You cheap whore! Where the hell is my money?’
Nyasha walks towards the kitchen cabinet, thigh high boots clicking on the marble floor.
‘You did it again, didn’t you?! You possessed little slut!’
Her burgundy tinted fingers lightly grazes across labelled sets of medium sized jars.
‘You have lost your damn mind!’
She stops at the last jar, unscrews the lid-
‘But this time, you’re going into the gas chamber for sure, bitch!’
-and slowly removes a bloody nose, lathered with saliva, from her mouth. She studies it in the light for a few minutes and drops it into the jar.
‘You have no messages left.’