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Mr. Danya
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“Oh, ok.”

She was staring wide-eyed at Cameron now, having completely ignored BB’s request. All the praise of Coleen’s singing had turned into angry white noise until the moment that her “best friend” stuck her face in front of hers and tried to apologise for the gaping stab wound nestled between her shoulder blades.

“As long as you’re SORRY.”

Her expression had turned as stormy as her voice: sharp, gritty, and barely stable in tone, like a badly tuned guitar with strings that had been left too loose. A red filter was starting to creep over her thoughts, and she was trembling more and more by the second.

She needed to get out before she did something she'd regret.

“Oh, hey, look at that! My phone’s ringing!” she practically screamed, pulling the dead silent device out of her pocket, pointedly holding it next to her ear. “Hello? Hi! Yeah! I’m just leaving now! Bye!”

“Welp, this has been fucking fantastic, Cams! Really! But I’ve gotta go!”

She made a move for her guitar and case, picking them up in unison. “Thanks so fucking much for this, Cams! Thanks for being so fucking considerate about this whole thing!”

“And thank you, Coleen, for gracing me with your fucking singing! Hope you like the gig, because I sure as hell fucking did!”

She was halfway up the stairs when she turned back one more time, looking Cameron dead in the eye.

“Just in case that wasn’t clear? FUCK YOU, CAMS.”

And then she was out the door.

((Vanessa Stone continued in Said and Done))
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