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situation I’m in, so while charismatic, I know my days are still
numbered.
Before I can even deal with that, I spy those heinous glares from
across the street: Ryan hand-in-hand with his girlfriend. She’s
wearing tall heels that I’d give anything to see break in the cracks of
the sidewalk. Her hair is fake, in voluminous curls, and her face looks
like she dropped her powder on the desk and slammed her face into
it religiously.
The last thing I need to do right now is to draw attention from her,
her vindictive side so irritating to deal with. Farrah Wellsburg is a
nuisance, and the minute she hears my truck roar to life, she’ll whip
herself around and put on a performance with my ex-boyfriend. Like
it’s meant to hurt me.
Which it might. I’m not entirely sure.
But today isn’t the day to find that out.
Instead, I duck into the dive bar next to the bank and sink into the
shadowy space with my heart punching its way out of my chest. I
push it back in, piecing myself together slowly before realizing I just
barged into this nearly empty place at ten o’clock in the morning with
a hoodie on and not a drop of grooming done.
Besides my general unkempt exterior, I realize now that I made my
pot of coffee and never fixed myself a cup! As if I’m not already
spiraling in my mind, I think this takes the cake for my shitty
morning. I post up at the bar, hoping the happy couple outside skips
their way right off a cliff’s edge, my body cold and numb to the
traumas I’ve endured today.
Not only am I officially poor, but I am poor with debts I can’t even
fathom right now. It’s as though I’m looking into the future at my
paychecks to come, only to see the next two years already allocated
for this bill and that debt.
