She looks around the room, scratching at the lice in her hair. “If you keep up this Internet dating nonsense, you’re sure to get more practice at suicide and you might succeed one day. Damned stupid practice makes perfect.”
Cat slips the sleeping pills into her pocket and then retrieves a pillow and blanket from Bella’s bedroom. She places the pillow under her face, which is sweaty and wrinkled from the carpet on one side, and covers her with the blanket.
The old woman shakes her head and pushes Bella’s hair out of her face. “I hope you don’t make a habit of this.” She leans down to whisper. “Best take the gay one to the wedding. Gays never pass up a chance to dandy up. He’s not so bad, really, but don’t tell him I said that.
Cat locks the door behind her as she leaves, the bottle of chocolate vodka clinking against the loose change from Bella’s dresser in her oversized trench coat pocket.