Page 80 of Cakes for the Grump

I’ll just hole up in here a good amount of time, enough that Elevator Man gets bored enough to find another drug companion, and then I’ll rush back up the elevator and marathon home!

The plan is very valid and would have worked if the time I have to wait in the bathroom didn’t make my thoughts wander to Sistine. Luke’s much younger sister.

Is she at this party? Is she safe? Did she know what kind of event this was? Was she too accosted by another partygoer and told to take drugs? Or maybe she took them voluntarily and can handle herself? My teeth make indents on my lips. There’s no way I’ll know the answers without confirming it with Sistine herself.

I think I have to,I think with frustration.I can’t leave without knowing for sure she is okay because if something were to happen, I don’t want to come back to this moment and regret not checking up on her.

Looking at myself once again in the mirror, I woefully utter a very despairing,“Fuck.”

One option is to go outside and try looking for her, but I have no idea how far this underground portion extends for.

I pull out my phone.

If only I could call Sistine, but I can’t because I don’t have her number. Why didn’t we exchange contact information? Oh yeah, because of our rocky start and recent truce. There’s been no time.

I go through my phone, partly praying a solution will spontaneously appear before me and partly because scrolling is mindless and makes me feel cocooned and brainwashed at the same time, a temporary salve to my growing stress.

My finger stops at my contact list.

That’s it. I might not have Sistine’s number, but I have a way to get it.

I message Luke.

LUKE

Hey. Hope your business trip is going well.

What is your sister’s phone number btw? I want to ask her about some girl stuff.

There. Casual. Unalarming. And it doesn’t invite him to ask for more details. He’s usually quick at responding, so this shouldn’t take long?—

The phone rings.

My hip knocks into the sink.

Shit.

It’s him.

I pick up on the fourth ring. “Hey, you.”

“Rita.” His voice is a low rasp. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Why do you assume anything is going on? It’s all fine. Nothing is going on. I’m all good. So good, actually. Justrelaxing.”

“Where are you?” asks Luke, ignoring my bumbling.

“Home. Your place, I mean.”

There’s a pause where I hear a few clicks in the background. “Not according to my security system,” he mutters.

“Wait, you have cameras? Like everywhere in your place?”

“Of course not,” says Luke. “The front door logs when a person comes and goes. If I pull up the video…” He clears his throat. “You left an hour ago. Wearing a dress. It’s blue.” A long pause. “Tight.”

“So? It’s a free country?—”

“I’m going to repeat the question again. Where are you? And why do you need Sistine?”