Wrong Number [18+] ✔️

Chapter|6.

*Fallon*

Today just isn't my day. For starters, I woke up late for work— which I am never late for, and I missed my bus. So I had to call a cab to take me to work.

But wait...that's not all. Nope, not by a long shot.

When I finally made it to work— 45 minutes later, I found out that I was working with the most irritating woman in the world. My nemesis.

Sally.

Sally is an attention whore, who thinks her shit doesn't stink. If the attention isn't on her— she makes sure it is at some point. On the surface, she's pretty— with her perfect brown hair, perfect eyebrows, perfect caramel skin, perfect teeth, perfect body structure. But on the inside— on the inside, she is cold and ugly.

Everyone here hates working with her. Even, Ray— of all people, hates working with her.

For fuck sake— she's 30 and still lives at home with her parents. The only reason she's working here is because her dad made her. He wants her to learn responsibility or some shit like that. He practically had to beg, Ray to hire her.

So needless to say it's been a very— very long day.

"I hate working," Sally whines for the millionth time today as she places the dirty dish in the sink. "I hate it with a passion."

I roll my eyes. Why does she have to always complain?

"I mean why do jobs even exist?" She adds picking at her perfectly manicured nails.

Vomit.

Vomit is what I like to call all my smart-ass comments. Why? Because no matter how hard I try, they come flying out of my mouth like vomit.

"To make people like you complain," I mutter more to myself but— loud enough for her to hear me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She huffs, folding her arms over her fake breast.

I sigh and push myself past her. After the night I had— cleaning up Ally's mess, I'm really not in the mood to deal with her shit today. Or anyone else for that matter.

She follows me out of the kitchen, "I asked you a question."

Everyone who knows me knows that when I'm in a mood like I am today. You leave me alone. You don't follow me demanding answers.

I stop walking and turn to face her and her eyes light up with surprise. I guess she wasn't expecting me to stop. She holds her ground and places her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

"All you do is complain," I spit, raising my voice. "You complain about how hard you have to work— which you don't. You complain about being here when you only work two days a week. You complain about your paycheck— which if you worked more you would get more. All you do is complain."

I stopped for a breather before continuing to heave the words out like vomit.

"You walk around here like your shit don't stink. You crave attention like your lungs do air and—," someone places their hand over my mouth, cutting me off from my rant— all while pulling me back and out the door.

I was just getting to the good parts too.

Whoever it is— probably Ray, was smart. I probably would have ended up smacking the shit out of her when I was done.

When I am finally released, I don't bother turning around to see who it is. Why you ask? Well because I would probably end up exploding on the one person who decided to step in and save her— not only from from my harsh words, but from doing something I would most likely regret.