Just a little something that came to me. I don't even know if I'll continue this..Enjoy :)
She's plotting to have me killed. I'm sure of it.
Her malicious glares resemble none that I have ever seen before. Not even I could fathom enough muscle in my eyelids in order to squint that callously.
She leaves her possessions all over the house. The hallway, the stairs, the den, the kitchen. I specifically tell her to keep her belongings out of my sight. Does she listen to me? Of course not.
Then she will just stand in front of me. Mostly when she knows that I am in a hurry to get somewhere, hence I have no other option but to shoo her away or I will trip over her. This, coincidentally, occurs mainly at the top of the staircase.
As I sit on a stool by the kitchen counter, nibbling at last night's stirfry leftovers, I contemplate this situation. I will have to get rid of her before she can get rid of me.
The front door opens and I can hear Andrea's footsteps clicking on the floorboards. Beckoning her over with a simple utterance of 'in here', she obediently marches forth with the Book under her arm and pen and notepad ready.
"Good evening, Miranda." She greets in a somewhat melancholy voice, and for a moment I wonder what is wrong with her, while I reach for the Book.
"Schedule an appointment with Dr Rosenfeld."
"Of course. I'll make that appointment for you first thing in the morning."
"It's for Patricia.' I correct nonchalantly as I flip open the Book with a simple glide of my hand.
"Oh no, is she alright?" Andrea coos in that sickeningly sweet voice as she crosses the room to the fireplace and crouches next to the stupid bitch that is trying to kill me. She gives her a good rub and whispers nonsense like, 'there there girl', and 'it's going to be ok.'
"She's getting old." I shrug as I pick at a piece of carrot in my stirfry, "have to put her down."
Andrea frowns at me. "Miranda, she's only five years old."
"Yes, well."
"What's going on?" Andrea's still crouching. Her left hand is rubbing at that particular spot on Patricia's belly that I know Patricia loves to have scratched.
I hesitate telling her. I know for sure that she will think I am insane. But she frowns at me once again. "She's trying to kill me."
Andrea's brows furrow slightly closer together now. I can tell she's taking a moment to think about what I've just said. Gradually, a smile forms across her lips. And soon enough, a chuckle falls from her infuriatingly plump lips.
"Are you serious?"
More laughter.
"You…you can't be serious."
I glare. The laughter stops.
"I'm sorry, Miranda, but…how many hours sleep did you get last night?"
I shrug once again. "Only a few, I guess."
"You need to take a break, honestly. You need some sleep." Her voice is stern and her eyebrows are raised in a way that suggest she is warning me to do what she says. All I can do is nod with my head held a little low, ashamed of myself for thinking my precious, loving and faithful dog would ever try to harm me.
"Good." Andrea gives that spot on Patricia's belly a final pat before she stands. "Give me a call if you need anything else."
It has dawned on me that I have reached a level of tiredness in which I cannot even be bothered to hiss my usual 'That's all'. I opt for niceties instead and mutter a soft 'Good night' as Andrea leaves the room. She turns back and offers me that blinding grin. There's a twinkle in her eyes and I can tell my insanity over the incident with the dog is not the only thing that has amused her tonight.
"Good night." Andrea offers before she turns and exits the townhouse. A few moments pass before I can hear it again.
Even from this stool in the kitchen, some 20 feet away from the front steps of my home, I can hear my assistant's roaring laughter echo throughout the streets of the Upper West Side of New York City.