Now what?
A.D.
AFTER DEFIANCE
Circa 4 and a half years later
The Resurrection
John 5:29 King James Version
And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.
Forty-Seven
ANDREA
Open the portal.Refresh. No update. Close the portal.
Open the portal. Refresh. No update. Close the portal.
“Greedy little shits have no problem taking their co-pays, butGodforbidthey post lab results,” I snarl under my breath, my platform Docs squeaking on the recently mopped floor of the cafe. I figured if I’m already running late, might as well grab some caffeine before work. Energy is worth worsening the incessant burn frying me from the inside.
I’m not exactly sure when the pain started, only that I can’t remember a time without it anymore. I’ve tried every over-the-counter medication, a billion PH-balancing washes, wipes and sprays, and even threw out all my underwear, but nothing helps.
It. Never. Stops.Burning.
“Andrea?” the barista calls.
Throwing up a peace sign, I squeeze past a gaggle of sorority skanks (who I guarantee are headed next door too) and scoop up my mobile order. My phone buzzes in my palm as I zoom out the side exit into the blinding Florida afternoon.
Remy:
He’s outside my classroom AGAIN. Looking at me like a lost fucking puppy AGAIN.
WHY. WHY MUST HE LOOK LIKE THAT.
Since his ex-boyfriend’s surprise return to Fort Manor after rehab, my best friend has been freaking the ever-loving FUCK out. (As if the dingbat hasn’t been begging the universe to hand-deliver Win back to him.)
That’s just his face babe
I hate it
No you don’t
No. I really fucking hate it.
Shaking my head, I chuck my phone back in my purse, juggling it with my keys, emotional support water bottle and chai latte while awkwardly leaning forward to take a sloshy sip.
“Don’t spill, don’t spill, don’t spill?—”
“Whoa!” A startled blonde woman stumbles aside as I barrel through the salon’s front door.
“Beep, beep!” I chirp, swerving past, the ball of keychains hooked on my thumb rattling like a cowbell.
“Finally!” Amira snaps. “I should fire you!”
“You can’t get rid ofme. I’m the personality hire,” I sing and wink at the furious, pint-sized Korean. Though Amira Isue might be the only person with a temper to rival mine, she’s a giant teddy bear under that hardass exterior.
