Sussianna is 20 and going to be 21, she lives in Boston, and it's her final year at Boston University College. She already knows what she wants to do for her life- a marine biologist. But after a horrible tragedy happened in her past, keeps hunting...
She laughs. "Yeah. You're just like me," she sighs. "Okay if you're going to that party, we are going to give you a makeover."
What? No.
"Don't look so stunned, you're doing it. To show that Meg, who she's messing with. I wish I could go with you, but I taught you well. You're not going to drink. Are you?" She asks.
"No, of course not," I spit. I promised myself not to drink ever again. I stopped drinking a few months after what happened... I can't think about that or I'll start to cry again.
"I know. I'm just making sure because this time I'm not there to protect you."
"I can protect myself, Camille."
"Yes, you can. I am guessing the party would be on Friday, so before the party, you're going to my house and I'll give you a makeover. Nothing too over the top, but will show off a little more of your body."
"No, I don't want to do that." I picture myself wearing something that shows off my breasts, the shirt rolled up, revealing my stomach, and wearing too much makeup that will make me look like a clown. No thank you.
"Come on, Sussianna. I won't make it too revealing." She holds up her hand dramatically. "I promise."
When I finally say, "Alright." She jumps up and down cheering and I roll my eyes.
"Hey, girls. What's with all the excitement?" Camille's dad says as he emerges from around the corridor.
I guess he is feeling better and I'm glad he's doing okay.
"Hey dad," Camille says.
"Hello, Mr. Smith."
"Sussianna, how many times do I have to tell you, call me Robert."
"Alright, how are you doing Mister... Robert." I look over toward Camille. "Camille said you had the flu."
"Yes, I had a twenty-four-hour bug, but I'm doing better now." Robert turns his attention to Camille. "How has Camille been running my store?" He asks me.
"Oh, she's been great, but I'm glad you hadn't been out too long because I think she would have destroyed your store." I giggle.
Camille puts her elbow on my shoulder. "I think we both would have dad," she teases.
Robert laughs. "Alright, if you two are done messing around, get back to work," he says playfully.
"Yes, sir," Camille and I say at the same time.
The day drags at Super Movies, we're not busy. Mondays are never busy, but it's nice for the shop to have fewer customers- it's peaceful. I spend hours restocking books on the shelves. The work is not hard, but it gives me too much time to think and thinking is never good for me.
I feel my phone buzzing every so often. Now, who could be calling me? I had chosen to ignore my phone so I could concentrate on my work, but with it constantly going off every ten minutes, I decided to check it. I grab it out of my jean pocket to notice the screen reads Chris.
CHRIS?
I look back and forth at the screen and the books on the shelf; I think I'm in shock. What the hell? How in the hell did he get my phone number or let alone put his number in my contact list?
I know I never gave him my phone number and I'm sure I never got his number and saved it. But then realization dawns on me- when we were studying yesterday, he added himself to my phone when I went to go change; I had left it on the end table. I can't believe he was going through my phone!
Camille kept telling me to put a password onto my phone, so no one will be able to access it. But do I listen? No.
There are several missed calls, along with several text messages. Oh, fucking hell. I open up the text messages and scroll down and read them.
I'm sorry for what I did, I know I'm a jerk, just please answer your phone and talk to me.
Another reads- For fuck sake answer your phone!
Damn, he sure is persistent. Isn't he? It rings in my hand, having me jump and of course, it's him. I let it ring to voice mail. It doesn't take long for another text to arrive.
Fine if you won't answer your phone I'm coming inside the store.
"What?" I shout at my phone.
He's here? He can't come in here when I'm at work, this is totally unprofessional. What will everyone think of him barging into the store and causing a scene?
I put the rest of the books on the shelves away, quickly, move out of the aisle and hurry to the front of the store. I frantically pull up my contact list to call him when I bump into a hard chest. "Shit. I'm sorry, sir."
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