"Drugs are never the answer. They are the question, to which the answer is always, yes."
Murphy had a simple plan, graduate high school (probably), avoid the police (hopefully), hoard her money like the 1%, and slowly but surely take over the entire...
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Shea Murphy was lying in bed, staring at the water damaged ceiling and contemplating how important it is for her to leave the warm safety that is her comforter cocoon, when she decided that her full bladder and familiar throbbing headache take precedence over her usual extra five minutes of silently overthinking her plans for the day.
With a groan, she stood and untangled herself from the bedding before making her way to the bathroom, grimacing at the popping of her joints.
After finishing her business, she stood in front of the sink, distracted by the sight of her smeared eye makeup.
With a shrug at her own inability to use a makeup wipe, she turned on the faucet and waited for the water to come, only to groan when it didn't.
With a sigh of annoyance, the girl opened the cabinet door underneath the sink and shoved her makeup up and multiple half empty shampoo bottles out of her way, cheering victoriously when she located the small lever she usually uses to "fix" the faucet.
After she washed her hands, the girl opened the medicine cabinet and in an attempt to cure her headache, she picked up a bottle of ibuprofen and frowned, shaking the empty bottle.
Who the hell would put an empty bottle back in the cabinet?
Right. It was me. She thought as she placed the empty bottle back on the shelf and closed the cabinet door.
Unable to stand still for as long as it takes to brush her teeth, the girl placed the toothbrush between her teeth and exited the small bathroom in search of an outfit for the day.
After throwing on her preferred attire of a cliché band shirt and jeans, the girl made her way through her apartment with a sense of pride as she looked around at her home.
Don't get her wrong, the place is a shithole.
The pipes are terrible, there are cracks in the ceiling, and she's pretty sure there's asbestos in the walls.
But ever since her mother "went away" she's made the 500 sq ft of chipping paint, mildewed carpeting, and outdated furniture, her own.
Somehow hanging her posters, choosing her own thrifted furniture, and displaying all the things she holds dear around the room, made the place her home.
So, yeah. It's a shithole. But, it's her shithole.
Realizing she's still chewing on her toothbrush, the girl reentered the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste and apply her makeup, when finished the girl wandered back into her room, immediately cursing when she saw the clock.
In a rush, the girl grabbed her backpack from the couch, before walking over to the very noticeable safe sitting underneath her TV stand and began turning the dial.
Once open, she removed a pink makeup bag and shoved it in her backpack before closing the safe and spinning the dial.
On her way out of the door, she grabbed a bottle of strawberry milk from the fridge and a half eaten pack of convenience store mini donuts as she pulled on her boots and favorite bomber jacket, practically falling out the front door as she went.
