Page 73
Story: Runaways
"Hey!" Gabriel, the lead chef and acting manager when Jodie isn't there, steps into the back room. "There are people waiting out here. Are either of you working?"
"She is," I tell him. "And she's late and already clocked in. I'm leaving."
"I'm going!" Zoey says, tossing her phone into her locker and tying her apron on her way out.
"What's your problem?" Gabriel asks.
I sigh. "Nothing. I'm exhausted, and she caught me off-guard. It's not a big deal."
But I was a little too harsh. It wasn't Zoey's fault; I don't have many friends, and I can't afford to make enemies.
"Do you think she's stealing from the till?"
"Honestly, no. I don't think anyone is stealing; I think she's just sloppy."
It was me.
It was only a couple of times and only about forty dollars, but still, I shouldn't have done it to Jodie. But sometimes, I can't stop myself. Jodie is nice enough to pay me in cash after taking out my rent and utilities, but it doesn't leave me much left over after groceries and essentials. Plus, I'm angry and bored, and it's a shitty combination.
I'll stop, though. For now.
"Hmm, all right. Well, I put that to-go order that was never picked up in the fridge if you want it. I'll see you tomorrow, Lilah."
"I do want it. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."
I stop by the fridge and grab the bag before leaving through the back door, then cross the parking lot to my apartment.
The lights in Jodie's house are off, and her car isn't in the garage when I pass. She hasn't told me yet, but Gabriel said she started seeing someone—a paramedic from the next town over. She's gone most nights and spends more time on her phone than she ever has.
Once inside, I bolt the door and take out a half-empty gallon of cheap as shit vodka I stole from the gas station. Like I said, I don't allow myself to drink often, and when I do, it's always alone, but it's an untenable life hack for my little eating problem. If I drink enough, I'm able to detach enough to eat an entire meal without vomiting. I take a swig from the bottle before removing the styrofoam take-out boxes from the bag.
A large container of fries, some mac 'n' cheese, and a burger—that's at least a day's worth of calories for a normal person. The fries I can eat sober and without much issue, so I can save those for breakfast tomorrow. There's a soda in the bag, too. I take it out, drinking until it's half-empty, and then pour vodka into the container until it's full again. Then I pile the food onto a plate and toss it into the microwave.
Another perk to my living situation is that Jodie shares her Netflix account with me. I skip past all the Halloween horror recommendations and push play on one of those survivalistshows Silas got me hooked on. I bring the food to bed with me, watching television while I drink until I can look at the plate of food without a lump forming in my throat.
Halfway through the second episode, I'm wasted, but I've managed to finish the mac 'n' cheese and at least a third of the burger, so that's something. I put the rest of the food in the refrigerator, and then I turn off the light, clumsily step out of my jeans, and remove my bra from under my shirt before crawling into bed.
My phone vibrates against the nightstand, and I grab it, knocking over my drink in the process.
"Fuck," I grumble, swiping to unlock it.
MASON Just now leaving work. I'm going to Spades with a couple of friends—I don't suppose I can convince you to come with me, can I? I'll pick you up.
I close one eye and attempt a reply.
Can't. Had a bad day an god drunk.
"Shit," I whisper, reading it back to myself after I hit send. Eh, well. He'll figure it out, right?
But the phone rings a few seconds later. I shouldn't answer it—I have rules about talking while drunk—but I do it, anyway.
"Hey," I say. "Sorry."
"It's all right," Mason says. "I'm just wondering how drunk you have to be before it's consideredgod drunk."
I laugh a little. "It's one of those things where when youknow, you know."
"Hm, okay. Does this have anything to do with what happened this morning with the little girl? I saw the video; that had to be scary."
"She is," I tell him. "And she's late and already clocked in. I'm leaving."
"I'm going!" Zoey says, tossing her phone into her locker and tying her apron on her way out.
"What's your problem?" Gabriel asks.
I sigh. "Nothing. I'm exhausted, and she caught me off-guard. It's not a big deal."
But I was a little too harsh. It wasn't Zoey's fault; I don't have many friends, and I can't afford to make enemies.
"Do you think she's stealing from the till?"
"Honestly, no. I don't think anyone is stealing; I think she's just sloppy."
It was me.
It was only a couple of times and only about forty dollars, but still, I shouldn't have done it to Jodie. But sometimes, I can't stop myself. Jodie is nice enough to pay me in cash after taking out my rent and utilities, but it doesn't leave me much left over after groceries and essentials. Plus, I'm angry and bored, and it's a shitty combination.
I'll stop, though. For now.
"Hmm, all right. Well, I put that to-go order that was never picked up in the fridge if you want it. I'll see you tomorrow, Lilah."
"I do want it. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."
I stop by the fridge and grab the bag before leaving through the back door, then cross the parking lot to my apartment.
The lights in Jodie's house are off, and her car isn't in the garage when I pass. She hasn't told me yet, but Gabriel said she started seeing someone—a paramedic from the next town over. She's gone most nights and spends more time on her phone than she ever has.
Once inside, I bolt the door and take out a half-empty gallon of cheap as shit vodka I stole from the gas station. Like I said, I don't allow myself to drink often, and when I do, it's always alone, but it's an untenable life hack for my little eating problem. If I drink enough, I'm able to detach enough to eat an entire meal without vomiting. I take a swig from the bottle before removing the styrofoam take-out boxes from the bag.
A large container of fries, some mac 'n' cheese, and a burger—that's at least a day's worth of calories for a normal person. The fries I can eat sober and without much issue, so I can save those for breakfast tomorrow. There's a soda in the bag, too. I take it out, drinking until it's half-empty, and then pour vodka into the container until it's full again. Then I pile the food onto a plate and toss it into the microwave.
Another perk to my living situation is that Jodie shares her Netflix account with me. I skip past all the Halloween horror recommendations and push play on one of those survivalistshows Silas got me hooked on. I bring the food to bed with me, watching television while I drink until I can look at the plate of food without a lump forming in my throat.
Halfway through the second episode, I'm wasted, but I've managed to finish the mac 'n' cheese and at least a third of the burger, so that's something. I put the rest of the food in the refrigerator, and then I turn off the light, clumsily step out of my jeans, and remove my bra from under my shirt before crawling into bed.
My phone vibrates against the nightstand, and I grab it, knocking over my drink in the process.
"Fuck," I grumble, swiping to unlock it.
MASON Just now leaving work. I'm going to Spades with a couple of friends—I don't suppose I can convince you to come with me, can I? I'll pick you up.
I close one eye and attempt a reply.
Can't. Had a bad day an god drunk.
"Shit," I whisper, reading it back to myself after I hit send. Eh, well. He'll figure it out, right?
But the phone rings a few seconds later. I shouldn't answer it—I have rules about talking while drunk—but I do it, anyway.
"Hey," I say. "Sorry."
"It's all right," Mason says. "I'm just wondering how drunk you have to be before it's consideredgod drunk."
I laugh a little. "It's one of those things where when youknow, you know."
"Hm, okay. Does this have anything to do with what happened this morning with the little girl? I saw the video; that had to be scary."
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