Marissa
I woke up with a chill crawling down my spine. Not the kind a blanket could fix, but one that seeped into my bones like a warning that things were going to get worse.
Maybe I needed divine intervention. A fortune teller, someone with a crystal ball who could map out the disaster of my life, point at the ruins, and say: Here. Here’s how you fix it.
I expected I’d spend the whole night tossing and turning, replaying that humiliating conversation with Justine. But I must have passed out somewhere between crying and hating myself, because the alarm’s beep at 6:30 actually startled me awake.
I blinked at my phone. Ten missed calls from Justin, all during work hours. Three from Brian. One message from Hector asking if I was okay.
Nothing from Justine.
The emptiness of that silence
