Later that day, I took Paul shopping to ease the stress I had built. For some people eating is their comfort, for me it was shopping. Also, eating—I didn’t deny food.
“That’s a lot of money for some shoes,” Paul said.
“I know, but I just got paid. Remember my movie went number one, plus I need to blow off some steam,” I said.
“Hmm, I guess. Oh yeah, I went by to get your stuff back home and I saw Kathy. She doesn’t look so good. She looks, looks…ill. She is completely bald without wigs.”
“So?” I said with an attitude as I strapped some heels on.
“So, she’s your mom. If I were you, I would spend as much time with her as possible. Unlike some people, you actually have a mom. She may be a little wacky, but I don’t think she is well.”
“I don’t care.”
“Really?”
“Yup, I could care less about her—dead or alive.”
“If she hates you or not, she was always the first one at your hospital bed—”
“Yeah, to see if I were dead, so she can go talk to some bloggers,” I snapped. “I don’t care. You heard me and everyone else heard me. I hate her.”
“You don’t hate her.”
“Drop it, Paul!”
“Whatever.”
I walked to the cashier. “I would like these two pairs.” I looked out the window and a blur of paparazzi stared at me. I tried to block them out my mind but my head kept turning in their direction.
“Okay,” the cashier woman said. “Cash or credit?”
“Debit.” I dug into my wallet for my card and handed it to her. I smiled at Paul and he gently smiled back.
“Here,” Paul handed me my coffee while we waited for the cashier.
“Oh miss, there’s no money on this card.”
“What?” my eyes narrowed as she spun the computer around to me.
“I thought you just got paid?” Paul stared at me as if I were lying.
“I did. Here try this one.” I handed her a different card and waited.
“No, this one is maxed out,” she said as she handed me back my card and rolled her eyes.
“What?” I felt my heart pound harder—it felt like it was going to burst out my chest. “Here this one has to work.”
“Um…no it doesn’t.” She handed it to me—I snatched it away from her.
“Oh my gosh!” I screamed. Then, I remembered Jason’s words; basically I will handle your money.
“What is wrong?” he said.
“Jason took my money.”
“Are you serious?”
“Let’s go.”
Paul pulled me out the store while shoving useless paparazzi cameras out the way and drove me home. His usual fast driving did not bother me this time. I was on a high!
“Are you okay?” he said.
“No, drive faster!” I said.
We arrived to the house sooner than I wanted to be there. I was determined to talk to Jason but at the same time I was scared to pieces. Afraid, because he was king temper and he had already hit me a few times. I was queen wimp, so I tried to think up ways to talk calmly to Jason.
“Do you want me to stay?” Paul bit his lip probably hoping I would say yes.
“No, I can handle this myself.” I got out the car, thinking of changing my mind to bring Paul along too. “I’ll be okay.”
“Okay, baby. Call me later,” Paul said and drove off.
I sat in the living room waiting to confront Jason. Knowing him, he would use his strength against me—I would need protection. I searched the kitchen for a butcher knife. I doubted I would use it; however, I grabbed it and went back to the couch.
I went through my purse and grabbed my anti-psychotic medication. I opened the bottle and a nasty smell came out of it. I looked at the pills again and they were all discolored. They looked like tiny melted blue M&Ms. I walked over to the kitchen and dumped all the pills into the sink. It didn't feel right taking those pills anymore—a part of me felt like I was being set up. Dr. Summings was probably giving me placebos all those months. And I was falling for it. Little did anyone know, I had stopped taking the pills since before my wedding day—the last time I had taken a pill was when I was in the car with Ana—and since then I felt almost fine.
Within an hour, Jason came home smiling—probably happy he took my money—that bastard.
Before he could even close the door, I began shouting. “My money, Jason! Where the hell is my money?”
“What are you doing?” he jumped when he saw me sitting on the couch with the knife.
“You heard me! My debit cards have no damn money on it,” I said as I got up off the couch. “My money!”
“No big deal, Lily. I just switched it to a shared account.”
“That is my money! My money I made from when I was six,” I said and began jabbing the knife in the air, closer to his face.
“You’re a nut! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he ran out the door and slammed it hard behind him. I heard his car engine start and he drove off down the street.
“Gosh, I’m stupid.” I took my anger out on a vase, which I slammed on the door. “I hate him! I hate him! I hate HIM!” I sat there next to the shattered glass—crying, thinking about the first day I met him. How perfect those first few months with him were like. Now, I looked at these past few days. Hell.