"When I tell you that he hates me, you'll probably assume it's because he's a jerk...but you'd be wrong. He's not a jerk. I am."
---
Several years ago tragedy struck Emma's home, leaving her broken... like a cup with cracks spiraling and sli...
I roll my eyes at her while throwing off the blankets and stumbling out of bed.
"What are you gonna do to me?" I inquire, as it dawns on me that she's wearing a onesie with 'freshly squeezed' written on the butt of it. I only know this because she's currently got her rear end sticking up in the air while she digs for who-knows-what under her bed. She pauses briefly to peek at me over her shoulder.
"Who? Me?"
"No, the Siamese cat doing yoga on your bed," I tell her blankly.
She laughs, mumbling that I'm weird under her breath before turning around to continue her search. I'm pretty sure I see her glance at her bed first.
After a couple grunts of frustration, she finally answers the question.
"I'm not doing anything with your sorry butt," she says while attempting to reach a little further. "I'm just doing what I was told."
I stare at her and watch while she hunts through an impressive amount of junk. I'm not sure how she's accumulated so much in just a few weeks. She finally sighs and falls back, sitting on her legs.
"Just curious, but did you wear that onesie in public?" I ask.
She pauses briefly from her search to look down at her outfit. "Hmmm, guess so." She shrugs it off and continues rooting around under her bed.
"Have you seen my leather boots?" she finally asks, looking over to where I'm still standing in the middle of the room.
"Which ones?" I wonder aloud, pulling my hair into a ponytail.
"You know? Those old Doc Martens that I decorated with henna?" she explains.
I've never actually owned a pair of Doc Martens just because the name makes me think of a pair of bulky, Velcro tennis shoes worn by a sixty-year-old grannie sporting a bun, and a skirt down to her calves.
The first time I saw Mercy's homemade pair, I realized I was completely wrong. She turned those bad boys into a brilliant work of art. If I could pull off anything even close to her style then I'd probably ask her to make me a pair, but seeing as how I'm about as exciting as a dead lizard when it comes to clothing, I know it'd be a wasted effort on her part if she agreed.
"Sorry Merc, haven't seen them," I respond around a yawn as I allow myself to flop back down onto my unmade bed.
"No no no," she reprimands, standing and pulling me up by my limp arm. "You've got five minutes to get ready. Your friend is on her way."
"I don't care," I whine dramatically with a sigh. I should be in panic mode trying to get ready, but I just don't really care. "You could have told me this like ten minutes ago, ya know."
I drop off my bed like a blob of putty, and sluggishly make my way to the bathroom.
When I emerge minutes later the only thing that remains of Mercy is her onesie heaped on her bed. The room is sweetly quiet. I pull on a pair of skinny jeans and a long-sleeved tunic. I accent my eyes with black liner, rub several wads of mousse into my wet hair and sit on my bed. I'm surprised Lindsey never texted me this morning about her plans. At least, I assume it's Lindsey who's coming to get me. Since she didn't tell me directly, I'm suddenly wondering if Mercy actually knows what she was talking about, or if I just got ready for nothing.
I pick at my nails for a few minutes before I'm startled by a knock on the door. I hop up, faking enthusiasm as I swing the door open.
"Oh, so you did get my message," Lindsey comments, eyeing my appearance, but she doesn't look very happy. I give her a questioning look, and she shoulders past me to sit on my messy bed. "I've been texting and calling all morning, but did you ever respond? No," I can't help but smile at her childish tone. "I finally found your roommate, Macy..."
"Mercy."
"Whatever." She waves my correction away. "And, she said you'd been sleeping away your beauty—apparently you're a hideous sleeper from the way she explained it—and she would happily rip you out of your bubble of dreams because, and I quote, she 'doesn't feel like your imagination is very healthy'. So..." She hops off my bed. All signs of irritation erased from her features as she grabs my arm and pulls me towards the door. "You ready to wallow away your heartache in a sea of ice-cream bliss?"
"Huh?"
---
PUBLISHED!
This book is now available on Amazon. If you're cool with taking a few minutes to leave a review, I'd be ecstatic!!! <3 (Below you'll see the new title and cover so you can search for it on Amazon, or just click the external link.)
Thanks!
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
