Cassandra
She swats a piece of cotton socks at me and giggles. "Hush, Sissy. You know I hate doing this s**t. And besides, half of the time I am wearing scrubs for work. No one cares if that crap looks a little wrinkled. Especially if it has blood and other... feces on it by the end of the shift."
I let out a small laugh and walk to the kitchen to fill up the glass with more water. As I take another drink, letting the cold liquid relieve my strained throat, I glance at the clock on the oven. It reads 7:00p.m.
"s**t," I mutter under my breath.
It was my turn to cook tonight. The last thing I want to do right now is eat, much less cook.
As if on queue, Tarra walks into the kitchen looking at me warily before taking the glass from my hands and taking a quick sip before returning it to me
