I stood in the concert hall waiting for Sheila to bring my tea. Maybe I should have sent someone else. After all, she’s still bitter about Michael. Her inability to hang onto a man had nothing to do with me, but I was being blamed for her tattered heart.
I’d be lying if I said she didn’t have it coming. That cocky bitch thought the world revolved around her. It was time she got a taste of her own medicine for a change.
We met at art school. Both were interested in theater–and obviously the same men. We never competed with each other, though. Or, I should say, I never competed with her. Our friendship meant more than that–at least to me, it did. She, on the other hand, was more than happy to remove any chance at having a career from my grasp.
I wasn’t bitter, though. I took it all in stride and found jobs elsewhere. Like I said, it wasn’t about competing. It was about paying the bills. But, like everyone else, I tired of her antics and felt it was time to show her what I could do.
We auditioned for the same play. Of course, she auditioned first. Her desire to set the bar high had her waiting for the door to open in the early morning while everyone else slept, struggling to build the confidence needed to outshine everyone else.
She got her wish. She was first, and she was awful. I chuckled as her voice cracked on the first note. She cleared her throat and continued, but that set the stage for her downfall. The other ladies who auditioned after her were a little better, but nerves got the best of them.
But I floated on stage like a gentle butterfly with my pitch-perfect performance and flawless grace. I expected to win, and I did. She raged for hours–blamed the weather, lack of sleep, and loneliness. I raised my eyebrow at the last one. She lost Michael because she’s a bitch. And I got him because I’m not.
Somewhere along the course of things, her heart softened. She helped me prepare for tonight’s performance, coaching me along the way, seeing that she had more experience being on stage.
I checked my watch as she approached with the styrofoam cup. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Girl, there was a long line. I had to wait. But don’t worry, it’s hot.”
Sheila handed me the cup. I placed it to my lips and took a sip. “Thank you. This is going to help so much.” I took a few more sips before walking out onto the stage. Applause rang out as I bowed and opened my mouth. The first note rang out like wedding bells, welcoming the crowd to join in on my heavenly serenade.
My eyes swept across the crowd as beads of sweat ran down my forehead. I straightened my body, forcing myself to continue as a wave of nausea brewed as if death’s cauldron was beckoning my destruction.
The room spun as I buckled over. Chatter from the crowd enveloped me as the music stopped playing. I fell to my hands and knees in the middle of the stage. Today’s lunch graced the wooden floor. A mixture of green, red, and brown–from the vegetable soup I ate earlier–spread across the stage for all to see.
The director and a few other singers came out to help me. But I couldn’t stop. More came out of me, the odor seeping into the wood as members of the audience rose out of their chairs.
I made it to my feet. The director asked me if I was alright as a belch escaped my lips. Behind the belch was another wave, shooting out of my mouth and landing on the director’s suit. My hand flew over my mouth as the people behind me backed away. The stench rose as the gas released.
My eyes widened as I realized that a little more than gas escaped. The brown liquid ran down my leg before landing on the floor. The crowd gasped. Everyone backed away from me as my feet stampeded across the stage and into the bathroom.
I sat on the floor after I cleaned up, sobbing–wailing at myself. Leaning my head up against the wall, my eyes traveled around the room. It sat on the far counter–the styrofoam cup. I got up from the floor, walked over, and picked up the cup. It was empty.
My soul darkened as I removed my heels, swung open the bathroom door, and charged at Sheila. I swung. She fell to the floor. Throwing my body on top of her, I slammed the heel into her face. Blood poured out of her nose. One of the other singers charged toward me, trying to get me off of Sheila. I pushed her away as I continued to slam my shoe into her head.
The director and a few attendants wrestled me off of her, slamming my body against the floor as others gathered around Sheila.
“That bitch poisoned me!” I struggled to break free, but they were too strong. “I’m going to kill you, bitch!”
“What the hell’s going on in here?” Michael asked as he ran into the room. His eyes darted back and forth between Sheila and I before landing back on me. “Are you alright?”
“She poisoned me.”
Michael’s eyes widened as he walked toward me. “She didn’t poison you.”
“Yes, she did. It was the fucking tea. Did you see what happened to me?” I threw my hands up over my face as tears streamed down my face. “I shit on myself!”
Sheila chuckled as she sat up, her back pressed against the wall. Blood ran out of her nose and mouth. My eyes traveled across the floor, over to her, landing on her blackened eye and swollen cheeks. “You stupid bitch. I didn’t poison you.”
“Liar!”
“She’s not lying.” Michael grabbed hold of my shoulders. “You have food poisoning. It’s all over the news. I tried to call you, but you wouldn’t answer. When I got here, it was too late. You were already on stage.”
A few officers ran into the room with the director. Whispers crashed against my ears, blocking out any words of solace coming from Michael’s lips. I covered my face, trying to shield myself from the glances of everyone in the room.
I curled up into a ball, pushing Michael away as the officers asked Sheila if she wanted to press charges. She said yes. My heart sank. My hands trembled. It was at that moment that I realized what I’d done and I would now have to pay the consequences.
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