Gossip, Girls, and Guns

As the door swings shut behind me, I sigh in relief as the overly loud laughter and chatter becomes muffled. I'm the only one in the bathroom, the separate stalls all empty with the doors propped open.

"Thank God."

I whisper to myself as I hike up my skirts and sit down on the toilet after closing the stall door. It was only seconds after I had flushed the toilet did I hear the noise outside rise up before falling once again, the fresh muffled silence accompanied by two other voices.

"Did you see them?"

"Yes. How about the massive rock on her finger?"

"I know! It could probably feed a small village!"

"Speaking of feeding, what did you think of the spread?"

"I think that if he could afford a ring like that, he could afford to cater some actual food rather than the pathetic excuse of a charcuterie board they're trying to palm off as a buffet."

"I was thinking the same thing! Oh, Felicity, can I borrow your lipstick? I forgot mine, and I saw Ian tonight. I wouldn't mind if he paid my lips some attention if you know what I mean?"

I clench my fist in suppression of a groan. Felicity and Emma. God, the bitchiest gossips in the world and I have to stand here and listen to them whilst they do exactly that - be bitchy gossips. I could just go out and wash my hands, ignore them return to the party. But even if they didn't say anything, their words would be more than sufficiently conveyed through the look in their eyes.

I listen to them stuff around for another minute or two, complaining about their looks even though they don't have a hair out of place, gossiping about whose who and whose done what.

"Oh my, I almost forgot!" The girl I've identified as Felicity exclaims. "Jamie told me that Amanda told him that Lisel told her that Tom's ex-girlfriend is coming. Apparently, Tom cheated on her with Naomi, and then she found out he picked Naomi over her, and now she's like, really pissed."

"Oh shit, really?" The other girl, Emma, replies.

"Yup."

"Oh my God. That'll wipe the smirk off Naomi's face."

"I know!"

Jesus Christ, I think to myself. Shit's about to hit the chandelier.

"Do we tell her?" Emma asks.

"Mm, no. I don't think so. I want to see her reaction when Tom's ex walks through those doors. I heard she has a surprise gift planned for them. I don't know why, though, as I said, I heard she was livid." Felicity says, before they both leave the room laughing.

Once I hear the door close behind them, I exit the stall. I soap, rinse and dry my hands in under thirty seconds, rushing out of the toilet and back into the crowded main room of the party. A banner with the words "Tom and Naomi's Engagement" hangs over the buffet table, and in a corner is a white-clothed table stacked high with exquisitely wrapped presents. Formally dressed waiters float through the crowd, silver platters holding flutes of golden champagne balanced on their open palms.

I ignore all of this, too focused on finding Tom. I locate him, standing near the staircase greeting two newly arriving guests. I push through the crowd toward him, waving away the people who attempt to engage in conversation with me.

"Tom! Tom!" I cry, reaching him just as the new couple left.

"Naomi!" He says when he sees me. "Sweetheart, how are you finding the party?"

"It's fine, Tom, really but I need to tell yo-"

I'm cut off by the doors at the top of the grand staircase being flung open to reveal a woman wearing an elaborate wedding gown complete with a veil. The skirt was massive, so big the servants by the doors couldn't get within twelve feet of her. The dress sparkled with what I could only guess were real diamonds, and it actually hurt my own eyes to look at her. Her olive skin shimmered where the light hit it and her dark hair was piled on top of her head in the most intricate twist I had ever seen. White roses were threaded into her hair as well, and a massive pearl hung from a golden chain around her neck.

Though there had been no announcement, a hush fell over the room. Every head turns to the top of the staircase to admire the woman.

"Camila?" Tom says. "What-what're you doing here?"

"Hello, dearest Tom. Long time no see!" Camila says, smiling sweetly. "Would you care to escort me down the stairs? I'd hate to trip and fall in this dress. I had it specially made for tonight's festivities."

Tom looks to me, then back to Camila, who fake pouts at him. He extracts himself from where I had instinctively wrapped an arm around his, and silently makes his way up the stairs to escort Camila.

I'm too shocked to protest, so I let him go. Tom apprehensively offers his arm to Camila, who latches on to it and replaces her fake pout with a sickening grin. They reach the bottom of the stairs, and Camila lets go of Tom, only to grab hold of my shoulders. She envelopes me in a tight hug, pressing her right cheek to my own.

I wrap my arms around her stiffly in return, and she only squeezes tighter. In my ear she whispers, "I'm going to destroy you."

I tense against her, fear coursing through me. Sensing my distress she adds, "Now laugh as if I just said something extremely funny."

I do as she says, forcing a laugh out. She lets go of me, grinning once more. Then she turns around, clicking her fingers at a servant I had only just noticed standing behind her.

"Miguel, the gift?" She takes the small, white box the servant gives her, handing it over to Tom. "I got you two a wedding present!" She adds excitedly.

"Thank you, Camila." He says warily.

The smile drops suddenly from her face. "Aren't you going to open it?

"Now?" I ask.

"I really can't stay long, darlings, and I would just love to see you open my gift!" She titters. Her words have a certain edge to them, as though they were like a sheathed knife, their true meaning hidden by a decorated smile.

Tom holds the box as though it were about to burst into flame. I'm terrified myself, especially after what Camila whispered in my ear.

Don't open it don't open it don't open it.

Tom opens the box, and I watch as the blood drains from his face at the sight of whatever us in it.

"Don't you just love it?" Camila reaches her hand into the box, withdrawing an ornate handgun from it. "It's a custom design. I thought it would be perfect for someone like you!"

"Whose someone like me?" Tom asks, his voice laced with suspicion.

I mirror his concern. After all, gossip, girls, and guns are possibly the worst combination.

"Why, a lying, cheating, good-for-nothing bastard, of course!" Camila answers cheerily.

Without another word, she raises the gun, fires once, twice, three times, and Tom drops to the ground, dead.

"TOM!" I scream, dropping to my knees beside his already lifeless body.

Yells and screams erupt around the room, but no one comes forward to help.

And so, I'm left on my own when Camila turns to me and drives a bullet through my skull.