Aftermath

"This cannot be happening to me." The words pass through my head. When people say things like never do anything in anger because you will regret it, listen to them, because they are always right.

The realization that I shouldn't have done what I did while blinded by anger is so annoying that I feel like hitting my head against a rock a few times before digging a hole for myself and then burying myself in it.

I am calm most of the time — that chill, slow-to-anger kind of girl that no one thinks has a malicious bone in her body. I am that kind of girl. I can't even hurt a fly for crying out loud, so why did today have to be so different?

I had a gut feeling that today wasn't going to be good but brushed it off since it was David's birthday and our anniversary. I kept saying today was going to be great. What could go wrong? I thought my gut was wrong because the beginning of the day was going great.

But I was the wrong one. Always trust your gut feeling because it will never, ever let you down. I should have listened to mine because then bad things wouldn't have happened like what is happening now.

Like my hand finding a glass candle instead of a hairbrush and flinging it at my ex-boyfriend — who I forgot has fast reflexes that he loves bragging about — and he dodges it.

The glass hits the wall behind his sister—well, not his sister but his lover—who screams like a banshee, jumping off the bed and scrambling as far away as possible. Which, to be honest, was pretty funny to watch.

The candle miraculously didn't go off but decided to light the whole bed on fire with the speed of light, which ended up with the whole room being engulfed in flames before anyone could blink, talk less say anything.

David's fast thinking luckily saves the day, fortunately for me, because I wasn't comprehending anything that was happening.

He rushes to his phone and calls the fire department. He gets us out of the room as the flames seem to chase us out. We had to run away from a literal line of fire that seemed to be following us.

Luckily, the firefighters arrived on time and put out the fire before it could kill us or give us third-degree burns. They investigated the cause and realized that a very flammable substance was poured everywhere, which led to the fire spreading like wildfire — which they later identified as perfume.

The matter should have ended there, just like that, but before they could leave, Anastasia decided to act like the victim instead of the guilty culprit.

"This is your doing! You nearly killed me and my boyfriend, you psycho stalker!" she shouts at the top of her voice.

I stare at her in shock — which has been my state of mind for the past hour, if I am being completely honest. How dare she call me psycho? She was the crazy bitch who pretended to be David's sister for the past four years, and she is the dumbo that caused the accident. The fire would have been easily put out if the whole bed and the rest of the room weren’t covered in her perfume.

"What are you talking about? You are the psycho bitch that decided to lie about who you are just so you can sleep with my boyfriend without me knowing!"

"I just want to know, what did it feel like when you were being introduced to everyone as his sister and he was introducing me as his girlfriend? I bet that hurt, didn't it?" I say with a wide smile on my face, enjoying watching how the innocent face she was trying to use to look like the victim transforms into a look of sheer hatred directed at me.

"You fucking bitch!" she shouts, lunging at me. Before I know it, we are in a hot catfight. I am so angry and ready to beat her up but can’t help hearing the whispers from the firefighters surrounding us.

"Damn, these women are going at it. Those scratches look like they hurt, but damn, does that look hot."

"Yeah, we should probably stop them, but I can’t look away. One of their shirts is ripped."

"Who knows how long it’ll take for them to rip all their clothes off?"

"All because of that guy — he’s lucky."

"We should stop them before they kill each other."

The more they whispered, the more my anger dissipated — as well as my strength — until Anastasia successfully pinned me to the ground, choking me.

She is pulled off by David while a firefighter helps me up. I look at her and notice that the shirt David managed to put her in before the firefighters arrived was ripped, and her boobs were nearly on full display.

"We have a winner," the guy behind me murmurs to himself. I push myself off him, backing away slowly, trying to get my head straight.

"Here you go," David says. I look at him, feeling like I haven’t heard his voice in a while.

He drops a jacket over Anastasia, who smiles sweetly before turning her face to me, still smiling — but it’s no longer sweet, it’s smug. He doesn’t look at me. He looks everywhere else but at me and doesn’t say anything either, just walks away, taking Anastasia to the paramedics.

Staring at their retreating figure, the whispers from everyone become a bit louder, but I can’t hear them. My mind blocks out everything around me, only focusing on them and my thoughts.

He gave the universal signal saying it was over. I’m dumping you and moving on — you can too, either with a guy, a girl, or maybe off a cliff, I couldn’t care less.

"Miss, I need to check your, err… wounds to see if there is any serious damage," a paramedic says, bringing me back to reality.

I nod and follow him, looking down, my ears standing alert, picking up everything they whisper as I move away from them.

"Well, the winner got the guy — that lucky bastard."

"When will I get girls fighting over me?"

"Well, two hot ones though. The winner is super hot, but the other is okay too. Maybe if she dressed up and wore makeup, she’d be pretty hot."

"Agreed, I would happily fuck either of them though — fuck them both if possible."

"You think he has done it?"

"You dudes are crazy. Let’s get back to work."

The quiet snickers echo in my ears as I go out of hearing range, but the degrading thoughts follow me. Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall.

After being checked by the paramedic, who kept avoiding my gaze, when he asked me questions, he said them so awkwardly that I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Haven’t you seen a survivor of a catfight before?

"Miss Alexia Ross," a voice calls out from behind me. I turn and see two police officers; my stomach plummets to the ground at the sight of them.

"I am she; what can I do for you?" I say, doing my best to maintain a cool tone and not sound scared. I take deep breaths, calming myself. Maybe they’re just here to see what the commotion is about — but they don’t arrest women for catfights, do they?

The officers stare at me and then at each other before they nod. The first one walks toward me. Before I can even react, I am turned around forcefully and cuffed.

"Hey! Let go of me!" I shout, but my pleas are left unanswered.

"Miss Alexia Ross, you are under arrest for arson. You have the right to remain silent.

Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

You have the right to one phone call.

You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you," the other says, leaving me shocked.

"What!"

My world tilted at his words

This really can't be happening