‘True.’ Al. admitted, envy thick in her voice.

Soon they reached Mrs. Ferrer’s giant car, got in. Marina drove carefully, even though her overreactive imagination was already conjuring up all sorts of pictures of what could be going on between Jenny and Alba.

Was that the writer’s sick way of punishing her? For what, exactly? Would Ms. Schecter be heartless to the point of breaking someone else’s heart?

They arrived at a seeminngly empty, silent mansion. At least on the outside. The Italian carefully, tentatively opened the main door, not sure about what to expect. Praying it wasn’t already too late.

The four women walked slowly, tigers prowling after a prey, ears sensitive to the smallest of sounds. Once Tonya hit her arm on the wall and yelped in pain, startling everyone else. They gave her dirty looks that would’ve withered a healthy rose.

‘Jenny?’ A familiar voice spoke, probably from the living room. The tone was sweet, high-pitched and young, addressed a person closeby. ‘You’re hurting me.’

Robin cursed softly to herself, imagining every type of torturous, painful scenarios. What was the writer thinking?!

Or at the very least they were…

Could it be that they had already gotten into each other’s pants?

The possibility had crossed a few minds, the trapeze artist realized as she scrutinized the rest of the group. Only Mrs. Ferrer’s face was straight; the remaining ones were twisted with amazement and concern.

A stream of giggles cut through the mansion, echoed ominously on their eardrums, held them frozen still. The sound had come from Ms. Schecter, no doubts on that, and made Alice chuckle without control as she bit her lip, fancied over what the hell was going on.

Her mind wasn’t helped when Ms. Hernandez began groaning and making other noises of exertion. Al. fell on the floor, histerically yet silently laughing, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Tonya also found the situation pretty funny, especially when Alba uttered another sentence:

‘Jenny, it’s bleeding.’

The girl’s voice was slightly ruffled, condescending too. The comment was enough to make Ms. Pieszecky breathless with laugher, moisture running down her face.

The Italian wanted to burst into the room and end up a growing sense of suspense that was killing her, but disciplined such impulses with a cool hand, calm mind.