TALIA
The following day, Madam Coco summoned me to her office. As soon as I entered, I was met with the familiar scent of old lady perfume and cigarettes, the smell now more nauseating than it ever had been in the past. I tried not to breathe it in too much, becoming enraged with each breath. I forced myself to stay calm, digging my nails into my palms, barely able to look at her.
She was a tiny woman, petite and always sporing a tan—her skin taking on a leathery appearance from spending so much time in tanning beds over the years. I wasn't sure of her exact age. If I had to guess—I'd say late fifties or early sixties.
She gestured to a chair in front of her desk, barely looking up at me, flipping her long, platinum blonde hair behind her shoulders as I entered. I took a seat. She casua
