REWRITTEN AS A VILLAIN.

A DAY LIKE THIS

(Gianne's Pov)

I woke up from my dream, tears streaming down my face. I had just had a dream about my father in a beautiful flower garden, the scent still lingering even when I'm awake, his face hasn't aged a bit. It has been so long since I dreamt about him.

It's been three hours since I got back from the Blackwood family mansion. My head and body ache so badly. I check my temperature, and I'm burning. I take some medicine and slump on my couch, my eyes closed. Just enough to feel better.

Minutes pass. I can't stay indoors today. As much as I don't have the energy to socialize, staying indoors can be suffocating at times.

I enter my bathroom and turn on the shower to take a bath. My temperature gradually cools down. I barely manage to finish my bath when the water stops running. I just paid my bills a few days ago. Why has the water stopped running?

I turn the shower on and off, trying to confirm what the problem might be. The handle falls off and hits the floor.

“Nothing works normally in this house,” I grunt, frustrated as I pick it up.

The landlord never picks my calls, the same thing my neighbors complain about. I leave the shower. There is a pile of laundry waiting for attention, on and inside the washing machine. I heave a deep, burdened breath.

“Tomorrow I promise.” I always promise to do things like this the next day, until I'm out of options.

I dress up wearing a plain white singlet paired with a black jacket and blue flared jeans. I put on my face cap as I step out of my house. I don't know my destination yet, I'll know along the way.

---

I order a coffee and take a seat at the farthest corner in the cafe. I got a book from the café library, it's a book about wellness. I try reading it, but I can't focus. I could have just stayed in the library, but I didn't. Nevertheless, I stared at the first page without reading anything, and soon conversations caught my attention, and I fell back into my pattern.

A woman is being discriminated against because she isn't fit to be in the café. Another who believes she's entitled to determine class keeps saying she'll call the cops.

A couple near me is starting their own little fight, the man is a chronic cheater, dating his neighbor.

A group of best friends who came here on vacation are discussing how they are having the best time of their lives. Are American cafés this chaotic, or is it just this particular one?

And I notice someone in the far corner on the opposite side. Based on her body build, it's a woman. She is alone too. She's wearing an all-black combination, her face cap lowered, and her sitting posture makes it impossible to read her side profile. Her dressing style gives her a mysterious look.

"She's my ex, I don't know why she's still using my name," the guy defends himself, their heated argument made me stop to listen.

“I saw her damn account, your videos, your name, everything.” The lady’s voice rises. She isn't really sad, all I can see is anger, not heartbreak.

“You shouldn't have snooped around, and now you just want to ruin what we had,” he says. Most cheaters think like that, like they can deceive anyone. They don't know how stupid they sound when saying it.

“I just want you to know how stupid you are. Your understanding level is low, and your grammar is bad. But I decided to just overlook those things and stay. But f*** you!"

She cusses him out and doesn't leave out the legendary part. She splashes coffee on his face. Two times.

I attain a level of satisfaction when she reacts. The moral is you don't eat poison just because you're hungry.

The man, out of shame, stands up and rushes out of the cafe after her.

The woman at the corner is sitting with someone now, a person dressed in brighter clothes, a lady. I order a strawberry cake and enjoy the entertainment and view in the cafe by the time I finish it.

I call one of the attendants to pay my bill. "How much in total?”

“Someone paid for you.” he smiles.

“Who?” I am taken aback. It's the first time someone has paid for my drink without me offering any favor.

“The woman who was sitting at the corner,” he says, pointing to the corner where the woman in black was sitting. I look there, but this time around, the seat is empty. None of them is sitting there.

“What does she look like? Did she tell you her name?” I am desperate to know something about her.

“Nope. Her face wasn't visible either.”