[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY FIFTY-THREE

“Well, isn’t it Miss High Society,” Hunter accuses as I walk into the small office with the plush purple carpeting. He sits at a desk with his large black leather shoes on it, and slaps a newspaper down. “So glad, you could grace us with your presence,” he spits.

Sugar barely looks down at the newspaper opened up on the Society Column as she walks by. A photo of her on the arm of the golden boy.

“I see I made it to page 3,” she bristles with a voice that has lost all of its former twang as if all the edges have been sanded down smooth.

Hunter rises and follows us to the door opposite of the one we had come in through. We begin to open it, but then he catches it with his hand while the other hand grips hold of a tangle of our hair, yanking our head back. I can feel several hairs being ripped from the root and I’m surprised at Sugar’s ability to keep her cry of pain tight inside her throat where Hunter can’t hear it. His breath bears down on the back of our neck, “That fucker sure has taken a shine to you.”

Sugar responds calmly over her shoulder, “He’s just a target to me. Like all the others.” It is almost a whisper.

Hunter holds the door. We don’t move a muscle. Finally, he cautions in a soft and slithery voice, “You just remember that,” before letting go.

Sugar nods, and we take a stilted step away from him.

[Deleted]