What You're Not | ✔

45. Masquerade (2)

"She's at a launch party?" Vivian cackled like a crazy person. "So, let me get this straight, not only did my mother call you—a person she met two seconds ago—while ignoring my calls, she also skipped out on my party for someone else's? It's my birthday!"

"Technically," Miles spoke up, "your birthday isn't until Tuesday."

I elbowed him in the ribs. The date wasn't the issue. Her mom should've been there, no matter what.

"Maybe she's still there," Miles offered now, being more helpful. "Try texting her again or her assistant or—"

"I have a better idea," she cut in, her gaze shifting to me. "How about we have your girlfriend call her? I'm sure my mom would definitely answer."

"Come on, Vi, it's not her fault."

Now he was on the other end of her death stare.

"Of course you'd defend her. Why would you choose me over Little Miss Perfect?" she scoffed, turning her back to us. "Why would anyone?"

Miles was just as lost as I was about what to say next. How did you respond to something like that?

Vivian didn't add to her rant, instead she stormed out of the room. A few beats passed before we followed her out into the hall.

"Where are you going?" Miles asked.

"To cancel this party," she shouted over her shoulder. "If I can't enjoy it, why the hell should they?"

She was fuming as she pulled the jumbo sized rollers out of her hair, tossing them haphazardly in the hall. If she wasn't in such a blind rage, maybe she would've seen the one that rolled out onto the stairs. Maybe she wouldn't have slipped on it.

Vivian went down. The scene played out in slow motion as she tumbled down the steps, hitting each one on her way, her very long way down.

When she made it to the bottom, face first, everything seemed to freeze. The music, the party guests. Even Miles and I were frozen at the top of the staircase. Did that really just happen?

"Is she dead?" A girl called out.

That seemed to break through everyone's shock. A few people rushed to help her. Most stood back, watching the scene unfold.

Miles rushed down the steps and I followed a few steps behind. Vivian was sitting up now, there was blood on her face, the source unknown to me. She seemed to be more concerned with her leg. But not too concerned as she pushed a server aside who was attempting to help.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, pushing away someone else. However, when Miles kneeled beside her to ask if she could stand she didn't mind. She also insisted that she couldn't walk on her own.

As Miles picked her up bridal style, a very small, very petty part of me wondered if maybe she did see the roller.

+ + +

Four stitches on her forehead and a sprained ankle. Those were her only injuries, but from the constant demands—these pillows are too soft, this blanket smells like dust, I asked for room temperature water—you'd think they just gave her three days to live.

Naturally, being one of the richest people in Westbrook, Vivian stayed in one of the hospitals biggest, fanciest room. With a mini fridge and her own personal bathroom.

She was being held overnight for observations and like the nice guy he was, Miles wanted to stay too. Only I hadn't seen him since he left to get coffee. So, when Vivian called out for him I had no choice but to go in and see her. Something I'd been able to avoid until then.