Write Me A Letter

12 | out

/ CHAPTER TWELVE - OUT /

PAULA'S VERSION OF GIRLS' DAY OUT wasn't exactly relaxing. Brie was thinking more along the lines of spa and salon, and most definitely not a shopping spree she could never afford. She had been lagging behind the blonde for two hours now and she was exhausted. Sometimes she'd flip through the clothes that looked cute for the next season, pull out the tag, and then shove it back in with a wince. They weren't particularly uncomfortable, but her mom had loans to pay and they weren't really millionaires.

Brie's mom was a paralegal and her stepdad who her mom married a year ago worked as a mechanic. She never really had to go hungry but she always felt guilty spending money on things she thought was unnecessary. May it be cute dresses or pretty floral skirts. It was a feeling that never left her no matter how much her mom tried to reassure Brie that it was okay. Maybe she was just wired that way, or she always felt guilty for wanting things. Plus, her feet were aching and her sneakers were starting to burn her skin but Paula's energy hadn't dwindled even a bit. She wanted to go home.

"Can we go home now? I have face masks at home and they're from Korea." Paula's back was to her, but Brie saw how her friend perked up at the mention of her favorite country. She actually added that in hopes that it would sway her. Korea has become an obsession of Paula ever since she saw Goblin and Brie had to capitalize on that, she would if it meant she'd get to be back in her bed.

Paula briefly glanced at her, thin brow raising from behind a lilac blouse. "You're aware that I have tons of those, right?"

Dang it.

"Can we please just go home?" And never return to this mall, hopefully.

Paula placed the blouse back on the rack and sighed. "Why? What's wrong?"

Lots, if she'd be honest. Aside from her aching feet and bruised wallet, there was just this inkling feeling that was making her uneasy. Maybe it was the after-effects of repetitive, shitty days or she could be a psychic. But she couldn't really tell that to Paula, because one: she loved the mall and, two: she'd think that Brie was being paranoid, which technically was true.

Shrugging, she let her fingertip run over a powder pink dress. The silk felt cold to the touch as if she was dipping her finger in a cup of milk. "I don't know. My feet are killing me. Plus I really want to finish the latest season of Stranger Things—"

"Brie." Paula shushed her, gray eyes wide and lips pursed.

"What?" She glanced over her shoulders, but no one was there. Well, except that couple who was sharing an ice cream cone. Unless that was what Paula was talking about. "Wait—"

"Brie?"

Ah, fuck.

She knew it. She should've run home when she had the chance. If only she'd listen to her stupid gut, she wouldn't be here. Miserable, with aching feet and... did she say miserable enough? Slowly, she turned to face none other than the Izzy Fence and Brie's breath caught in her throat. Izzy looked gorgeous. Bronze hair, pin-straight to perfection, eyes vibrant and popping with her on-point, winged eyeliner, and lips bright with pink-gloss sheen.

She and Paula exchanged a look. "Do you need help?" Paula whispered to her ear. She simply shook her head. She needed Divine Intervention, but right now she should be brave enough to face Izzy.