Miranda's head snapped, the movement spiking down her back, through her shoulders, into her fingertips. She attempted a scowl, doubting it would do any good, as a billion daggers stabbed themselves into her heart.
"Don't be ridiculous." Miranda swallowed heavily, raking in a necessary breath. Andrea lowered her gaze to the floor. "A million girls want this, to be in your position."
Another mistake, right there. Miranda wanted to grasp her words and push them back down her throat, but settled for placing the backs of her fingers against her mouth instead. She really must find herself some lip-balm. Her lips were horribly chapped. Perhaps the weekend of scotch and coffee was to blame.
"Oh, they do?" Andrea sang weakly. "They want to be insulted, told they are fat and ugly and useless? And after all of that, they want to watch some sleazeball fuck her boss whose eyes just sparkle with glee? Oh. I'm so sorry, I didn't realise. I thought - "
"Shut up! Shut up. Just don't," Miranda spat as the daggers twisted in full circles, carving spirals of life from her. As for the resulting pain, she supposed it was just little addictive. Extreme. Something full to grasp until her fingers bled from the effort. She could get quite used to that. Better that than a heart full of nothing.
She supposed it had something to do with age, those moments of inexplicable insanity that kept dropkicking into her life. A fortnight ago she accidently put sugar in her coffee, and the week before had tried to silence Cassidy with the remote control. Last week, she had performed the most offensive gesture imaginable to the woman she was realising she could not live without. Things were changing inside her head.
"Hm." Andrea sank into the chair with all the grace of a cat, crossing her legs so that her skirt rode high on a thigh that Miranda tried very hard not to stare at.
"You can't just quit. Not only is it…" Miranda was going to say it was unprofessional. "You just can't."
"Well I can't exactly live through this Miranda." Andrea whispered into her lap.
"I am aware of that. Do you think I don't realise that?"
"I could get you into a lot of trouble."
Miranda had already thought ardently of that, on Friday night in fact, as she lay in bed beside her softly snoring husband with the bedside light on (the dark encouraged images she prayed she would forget).
That night, Miranda had come to the conclusion that, save for her children, she could deal with a lot of trouble. What was there to lose? Her husband? He was already gone on horses. Money? It had never brought contentment to her life, no matter how much of it she raked into her purse like some greedy child. Dealing with trouble was something Miranda could do. Trouble was nothing. Not when she was already a guest in deepest hell.
She peered at Andrea. No, more than that. She really looked her in the eye as you might survey a highly acclaimed painting or a new gown by your favourite designer. She looked into Andrea. Right though her skin and into what was beneath.
In that single connection, eye to eye, heart to heart, Miranda knew that although Andrea could get her into trouble, she would not. Not from that look which fell from her soul and into her skin. Andrea, who was apparently made of pure gold, would no more get Miranda into trouble than Miranda could apologise.
In a sense, they were muted by the very personalities that caused this hell in the first place.
"I don't wish for either of us to be in this position Andrea," Miranda spoke calmly, ghosting a fingertip down her nose in order to pace her breathing. "I would hope you realise that."
Andrea swallowed thickly. Perhaps she also had that tennis ball in her throat, perhaps they were both suffocating with this.
"I'm sorry Miranda." Andrea shook her head as she rolled a nervous ankle about the floor, straining the heel. She should stop that, Miranda thought briefly, before focusing on what Andrea had just said.
"I…you have no need to apologise."
"I shouldn't have said about getting you into trouble. That was out of line." Miranda's focus shifted to Andrea's face.
"That was out of line?" She rose, Andrea jumped; Miranda almost cried when she witnessed it.
Miranda stalked bare foot to Andrea, feeling suddenly quite viscous. It tended to come over her unexpectedly, this need to punish a beautiful girl.
"You play tricks, little ridiculous tricks on me for days. You fail at your job. You feign incompetence. You trick me in-front of all of my staff Andrea, and I say nothing at all because…oh…" her voice shook. She flipped her hand in the air. "Because I can't figure what the hell else to do, and you apologise for saying you could get me into trouble?"
"I…I don't know."
"You don't know," Miranda sneered, noting how Andrea was pressed tightly against the backrest. Any further back and it would tipple over. The girl was petrified. Miranda was messing this up again. "This will end now. I will not tolerate incompetence at work, you of all people know that. Tomorrow morning I expect things to be the way they were before…all of this. It will stop. Do you understand me?"
But Andrea could not respond at first, her teeth too occupied in dragging her lip into her mouth as though she were a starved animal. Miranda waited for the verdict.
"I can't do that Miranda. I…"
Miranda lunged, slamming palms against the backrest, one either side of Andrea's pale head. While Andrea did not breathe, Miranda sucked air in and out of her lungs like a marathon runner until such a time when Andrea's gaze dipped from her eyes to her mouth and then, gently, down to the gape in Miranda's angelically ivory blouse.