Page 26 of Against All Odds

I had barely enough time to process the absurdity of it all when Raya stiffened. She slowly lifted her tear-stained face, and a shock went through me when her eyes met the exact spot where mine were.

She still couldn’t see me, but I knew she felt it. I saw it in the way her shoulders relaxed, as did the muscles in her face, and her eyelids fluttered closed. As if finally giving her body permission to relax, she curled up into a ball on the carpet. Within seconds, she had fallen asleep. Something that should be nearly impossible with the amount of chemicals coursing through her veins.

I blinked slowly. I didn’t dare move, scared to break the spell and wake her up. Instead, I glanced down at the sleeping girl in front of me, listened to the soft rustling of the feathers in the breeze, and watched her chest rise and fall as she lay there. For the first time since I met her, she looked at peace.

Turns out being an angel did come with wings after all.

Chapter 12.

Raya

“Soraya! Open the damn door.”

A loud knock on my door, followed by an aggressive tug on the door handle, harshly yanked me away from my peaceful slumber.

With a groan, I pushed myself up onto my elbows, trying to ignore the assault on my door. I blinked a few times.

Why was I sleeping on the floor? I did not remember—

Oh.

The reality came crashing down harder than the throbbing headache.

Peter.

The dice.

Had it all been a dream, or a side effect of mixing the wrong substances? The idea of communicating with my guardian angel through fucking dice sounded too absurd to be true. But one thing I couldn’t deny: the incident with Peter had been as real as the throbbing headache, as much as I wanted to tell myself it wasn’t. My hand twitched, disgust flooding my body at the memory.

But how had I ended up on the floor? The last thing I remembered was crying my heart out because—

“Soraya, I swear to God, if you don’t open this damn door now, I’ll break the lock. I have my ways; you don’t want this fight with me.”

“Will you shut your fucking mouth?!” I yelled back. Groaning, I stumbled to my feet and threw on a robe.

With a sigh, I unlocked the door and swung it open to glare at my roommate. “What now?!”

Pascal glared back at me, holding up the near-empty bottle of Ritalin. “Why did you take my stuff?! And don’t bother denying it, because I swear to God, I will beat you up.”

My biting words about privacy stilled on my tongue. For a moment, I just stared at him, my mind too tired to come up with a believable excuse. My default reaction in a situation like this would indeed be denial, but something told me this would only make matters worse for myself.

My sigh came all the way from my toes. “I’m sorry, okay? I have exams next week and I needed to focus. Ran out of my own stuff. I was going to replace it, and I will, I swear. I didn’t think you would notice.”

“What do you mean, didn’t think I would notice?!” he spat, throwing the bottle into my room. I ducked just in time to avoid getting hit in the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! You took three full strips; a normal person goes three weeks on that. Are you trying to tell me you went through all of them in a week?” He snorted.

I stayed silent for a moment, brows furrowing. Was he lying? No, his anger seemed too real. Had I really gone through three strips in one week? How had I not noticed?

I sighed again, too tired to argue. “What are you saying, Pascal? Are you calling me an addict?”

“No, I’m calling you out on your bullshit.” He pointed an accusatory finger in my direction, and I stepped back instinctively. “You’re selling these, aren’t you? Stealing from your roommate and making a fucking profit. Fucking bitch.”

I only stared at him. “So you’re calling me a dealer now.”

“I don’t fucking care what you are!” he yelled back, spit flying in all directions. With a grimace, I took another step back. “You will pay me back every damn penny by the end of the day.”

My stomach turned. “I will pay you back, I promise, but I don’t have the money right now. You know I had to pay double rent this month, and—and I won’t get paid until next week.” Was my shitty part-time job even enough to cover this?

“Does that look like my fucking problem, bitch?” he spat back, putting his hands on his hips. “I want the money tomorrow. I don’t care if you sell your feet pics online or you actually go put on your big girl pants and become a dealer, but I want my money.”