Pretty When They Collide (Pretty When She Dies 0.5)(21)

Gulping the milk, she hoped her system would believe it was satisfied long enough for her to get some sleep. Finished with her drink, she flopped onto the couch and turned on her secondary cellphone. She considered it her ‘civilian’ cellphone that she used in her regular life as a part-time waitress at the local diner.

“Let’s see what calls I need to ignore,” she muttered.

There were several messages from her co-workers asking for her to cover their shifts due to some flu bug going around town and a message trying to get her to donate to some politician that would never in a million years support her right to marry, so she deleted all those.

“Erase, erase, erase, and definitely erase.”

The last one gave her pause the second she heard the voice.

“Cass, it’s me. I know that we didn’t part on the best of terms, but things aren’t working out for me here. It’s not a good scene. I can’t go into details. I know you’re mad at me, but I still love–”

“Fuck you, Felicity, and erase.”

Tossing the phone onto the coffee table, Cassandra slumped over on her side and closed her eyes. Anger ate her and she slammed her fist into the sofa cushions a few times. After all that Felicity had done, her ex was so damn sure Cassandra would take her back. Tears flowed and Cassandra wiped them away. It was hard not to feel hurt and angry all over again at the memory of Felicity’s betrayal, but it also upset her that for a brief second she had considered taking her back. It was hard dating in the small town where she lived, but she didn’t like being away from her mother for long periods of time.

It had been very difficult when she had lived in Paris as a model and had to deal with daily phone calls from her mother’s caretaker. Galina had never really understood where Cassandra was during that time. Cassandra had sent her dozens of postcards and photos of Paris, and though Galina had decorated her bulletin board in her kitchen with them, she could never remember why Cassandra wasn’t at home. It was then that Cassandra swore she would never be away from her mother for very long. In doing so, she had significantly cut down on her dating pool.

The apartment felt intensely empty. She could hear the muffled voices of her neighbors arguing, but she felt detached from the world they existed in. Maybe she was just fooling herself. She lived in the shadows of the world pretending to be normal. Though she was popular at the restaurant and people tended to like her, she was always aware of the distance that was between them. Even her ex-girlfriends had felt the gap between Cassandra and them even though she tried very hard to share her life with them. Often her exes attributed the disconnect between them to Cassandra’s mysterious side job working security. When Felicity had left in a tidal wave of rage and indignation, one of her last angry slings in Cassandra’s direction was to shout, “I don’t even know you! You’re a shadow!”

Cassandra hated to admit it, but she was lonely. Though Felicity had hurt her terribly, she missed her ex banging around in the kitchen making dinner, chatting about her job at the bank, or her latest reality TV show obsession, or their times snuggling on the couch watching movies.

Darkness filled the apartment, save for the kitchen where she had left the light on. Staring through the doorway at the gleaming white and black tiles under the bright light, Cassandra sighed. It was way too symbolic of her life. While she lay in darkness on the sofa, the light seemed far away and unobtainable.

Plus, she didn’t want to get up and turn it off.

Exhausted, she closed her eyes, swearing she would just rest her eyes for a bit. Within seconds, sleep claimed her.



The bell over the door jingled, drawing her gaze upwards. Cassandra paused in the doorway of the ice cream parlor, confused, disoriented, and a little unnerved.

The shop’s decor was mostly pink and white with flashes of bright red. The booths were red leather and sat like sentinels on either side of white tables edged in pink. The white wrought-iron chairs and tables decorated with fancy curlicues and flourishes scattered along the white-tiled floor gave the setting a little flavor. A young man in a white apron and little cap waited behind a counter for her to order.

Her boot heels ringing against the floor, Cassandra slowly approached the long counter. An array of brightly—colored ice cream filled the display behind the highly polished glass. Tucking one hand into her jean pocket, she felt for her slim wallet, relieved when she felt the soft leather.

“What will you be having today?” the man said in a thick West Texan accent. He lifted an ice cream scoop, the metal flashing in the bright light pouring through the white curtains covering the windows.

“Uh...” Cassandra bit her lip. There were so many flavors to choose from that it was a little overwhelming.

“Get the peppermint. It’s wickedly good,” a voice said beside her.

Turning, Cassandra sharply drew in her breath.

The woman from Vegas stood beside of her. Clad in a long, olive handkerchief skirt and tan crochet halter top adorned with polished stones that revealed slim shoulders and a taut stomach, the bronze-haired woman smiled warmly.

“Seriously, the peppermint is the best. Though, the mint-chocolate chip is a close second.” Leaning against the counter, the woman said, “Could I have a scoop of both in a cup?”

“Sure thing!” The man in the apron immediately began chiseling the thick sweet creamy goodness into rounded servings.