❝ 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜 '𝕟' 𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝, 𝕓𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕠! ❞
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Shane Madej is a demon. No, I'm not kidding. Though, why he decides to spend his time hunting ghosts and tormenting Ryan Bergara under the guise of a BuzzFeed employee; I couldn't tell you. However, h...
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No one could tell if Mark was awake or not. He was curled up on the floor, tangled up in a flurry of blankets and wearing the long-empty bowl of popcorn like a hat. He'd managed to snatch the thing from Anthony—who Evan had trusted the Godforsaken bowl with when she went to the restroom—when he wasn't looking. It seemed as though everyone was none the wiser—a very incorrect assessment.
Of course, Devon noticed immediately; she'd kept the bowl under her hawklike gaze for the past twenty-five minutes. She thought about trying to wrestle the bowl from Mark's grasp but eventually decided that it wasn't worth it. She was far too comfortable where she was to even attempt the heist.
But she did have a plan to get back at him on Monday.
—
Evan didn't actually need to go to the bathroom. No, she simply didn't want to hold onto the popcorn any longer. It smelled. It reeked. Ryan must have added too much butter or burnt it—or both. She also knew that Anthony wouldn't care that much to fend off Mark.
It was the perfect plan.
Though, going to the bathroom wasn't entirely meaningless. She got to look at herself—her human self—again. She rarely did, though that might be due to the fact that she owned exactly one mirror in her sorry excuse for an apartment. She'd only spent about five months—tops—being in the body of a smelly, grungy human. It was a new experience altogether, even with the four-month preparation period her superiors insisted on, but—
It still kinda sucked—not gonna lie.
Needing to eat food every six to eight hours—gross. Needing to relieve yourself every time your stupid intestines told you to—also gross. Needing to sleep at least eight hours a night or else feel the wrath of your sleep-deprived body—annoying.
She also lost things that humans obviously didn't. She missed her huge feathery wings and her special—were they really?—violet markings. It was like a part of her identity was stolen in the blink of an eye. Speaking of blinking, that was also annoying—pitch blackness for a fraction of second was a fraction of a second too long.
