My Champagne Problems

27: Veuve Clicquot

"Of course," she nods and I'm out the door as soon as those words leave her mouth.

The rest of the day consists of me dealing with cramps spreading from my back to my stomach, the constant craving for fried chicken--yet getting none--and constant checks to make sure my clothes are fine.

It doesn't help that the one time I spot Daniel in the hallway he doesn't so much as spare me a meager glance of acknowledgment. And to my over-hormonal self, that mere gesture or lack thereof has me inferring this day to be one of the most crappiest ones ever.

The rest of the day--which consists of yet another three hours of being in this antagonizing place--finally comes to an end with me being the lowest I've possibly ever been. To an extent that for the first time--since being on the team--have I bunked debate practice.

Praying my misery is soon to meet its demise, I drag myself towards the bus station.

Why didn't I just call someone to get me? --I don't know.

I just power through the pain and discomfort and keep walking. 'Wesley probably has better things to do than be my chauffeur anyway' I assure myself about my decision.

'They probably think I'll ask Graham to drop me off, which I probably would if he ha--

"Hey, we're kinda lost can you help me out?" A stranger's voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

I frown looking around for the owner of the voice, only to spot a sliver sedan halted a little ahead of me. A man's head peeking through the driver's side window, while the lady in the passenger seat is occupied with her phone.

I cautiously approach them, having looked around and finding that I'm the only one they could possibly be directing their words towards.

"Hi." The driver beams, having finally caught my attention. His sunglasses sitting at the lower portion of the bridge of his nose exposing his bright blue eyes.

'He's nose is a bit crooked' I notice randomly. 'Probably had it broken...or something

"We were looking for the nearest gas station, but our GPS is acting wacky. Do you think you could point us in that direction?" He asks nicely.

I nod, "it's just dow--" I cut myself off when I realize the direction their car is pointing towards.

Trepidation clouds my judgment. I discreetly take in a shakey breath, knowing that if they had come from that direction, then they have definitely crossed the gas station not so long ago.

My mind runs a mile a minute trying to figure out how to get myself out of this situation. But fear compiled with anxiety and pain, doesn't leave me with favorable odds.

"It's down the street that way," I tell them nonchalantly, pointing them down the road I emerged from and in the opposite direction they came from.

"Are you sure?" He quirks his brow. "'Cause, we have been circling this block and haven't found it yet. And my cars is almost out," he explains, just as the woman in the passenger seat puts down her phone and focuses on our exchange.

Her expression in a contrast to his displaying impatience and just a hint of detectable annoyance.

"Could you maybe ride along with us till her?" He asks, with uncanny politeness that causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand in the attention of the impending potential danger.

"I'm sorry, my brother is waiting for me by the bus station," I decline as politely as I can.

"We can drop you off back there," he offers.