Page 51 of Wanted

I swallowed. The room had turned quiet. Everyone’s eyes turned to me.

†Doesn’t Exist†

I didn’t see color.

I meant that with every fiber of my being. No, this wasn’t a race issue.Sit back and enjoy this message on a phone that’s been made by slaves.The concept of race was one I felt familiar with. My mother was Afro-Greek. Something she proudly declared in front of anyone with ears. She’d met a Cuban-American businessman while he was on vacation in Greece. Mykonos, to be exact. Mom didn’t have too many fond memories of Mykonos, but she always claimed, “I met the father of my children there. It’ll always have a special place in my heart.”

Am I boring you already?

The fact is my mixed race wasn’t the reason why I didn’t see color. That sentence weighed tons, and I never spoke of that sentiment to my family and friends. Most of whom were of black descent. I was black, although I didn’t look the part.The sun never sees him. He likes it that way…

No.

I didn’t see color because all I saw was red.

†

I spent the rest of my afternoon looking at pictures of black widows while Jordan and Alex argued with Kamila, their voices thundering throughout the house. Mandy this. Mandy that. Money floated through this space, pressuring my friends and family into uncomfortable decisions. Alex had the means to keep Mandy safe. He could help her get the treatments she needed, but Kamila was a bitch about it.

She wanted to be with Mandy to help her through her health issues.

Jordan didn’t plan on allowing Kamila to expose herself to the public yet. Mandy was alone at the hospital, undergoing intensive treatments for her uterine fibroids.

I sat on my bed, clicking on websites that would have the authorities knocking on my door. If they ever figured me out, that is.

Where could I get a black widow? That would be an excellent pet to have.

A knock on my door made me hiss. I put my phone away, scowling. “What is it?”

“I’m bleeding.”

“What do you mean?” Who had hurt her? Would I twist a neck before the night was over? I needed the thrill. I rose from my bed, and I opened the door for the princess. Cozied up in one of Alex’s sweats and shirts, she rushed by me, settling on my bed. Her red hair brushed my pillows, and I knew that I’d have to change sheets if I wanted to fall asleep tonight.

“My period.”

“Give me more than two words,” I demanded from the spoiled princess.

“I might be going through a miscarriage,” Kamila blurted out, tears erupting from her, and like a volcano, she burned me.

“A miscarriage,” I repeated, contemplating.

“Aram.”

“And you just realized it? You’ve had periods. You told us all about them,” I reminded her. Signaling her to get out of bed, I led us through the mansion. Next to his indoor basketball court, Alex had set up an entire pharmacy for himself. Kamila never walked in a hurry, but today, she slowed me down even further. It took us ten minutes to move from one space to the other.

“They weren’t normal. They felt light… I know some women occasionally bleed during pregnancies,” Kamila explained, panting lightly as if talking was a chore.

“This is absurd,” I argued. She was delusional. There was no other way to explain it. I’d get Kamila’s blood and urine sample to be sure.

Typing in the code at the door to Alex’s live-in pharmacy, I let us in. Kamila didn’t feel like standing, so she took a seat on the floor, trembling all over the place and distracting me from the task at hand.

She needed to die a slow death.

But that was a story for another day.

“Do you feel sad?” I asked. This was a question ordinary people asked when ill-fated things happened. I memorized it, and it was part of my small talk routine.

“No, I don’t,” Kamila uttered. “I just want to know what I can do to stop the blood and the pain. This child would’ve been sick. I never wanted to carry his baby…”