My eyes opened slowly, one lid at a time, like my body needed to double-check it was still alive. The ceiling swam into view, blurry and too bright.
My head was banging. Not just a dull ache, no, this was a full-blown, somebody-was-sawing-my-skull-in-half type of pain.
Every joint in my body ached like crazy. My muscles protested as I shifted, and I let out a loud groan until I actually tried moving my legs.
My feet—God—my feet were on fire. Imaginary flames that felt painfully real, licking up my ankles from walking anywhere and everywhere yesterday and the days before that.
Come to think of it, how did I get home from the office yesterday?
Then I remembered—Clarissa, oh the poor girl, I must've given her a hard time.
She deserved a break as much as I did.
I looked around for my phone and slid into Mario's dm and typed away.
'Clarissa did as much work as I did. Probably even more. She deserves a break too. Be the good CEO that you've always been and do right by her or I'm telling Julia that you maltreat us at the office.'
He would've done it anyway.
It just felt good to have the upper hand. Hehe.
I closed my eyes again. Said my prayers—half-whispered, half-thought. Thank you for keeping me alive and letting me hold on to my sanity. Please help me get out of bed, I have a flight to catch. Amen.
I must've dozed off again because the next time I checked the time, I had exactly one hour before my flight.
One. Hour.
I shot up like someone had fired a starter pistol next to my ear.
Bad move. My head spun. My body screamed. But adrenaline kicked in, dragging me up and out of bed like it was personally offended I was still there.
And then the chaos began.
My room looked like it had been robbed by someone who didn't know what to exactly to steal.
Clothes were everywhere—draped over chairs, shoved under the bed, twisted into vague fabric tornadoes in corners.
I started with good intentions. I really did. I opened my suitcase with a plan.
That plan lasted thirty seconds.
Soon I was flinging things in blindly: jeans, leggings, shorts, shirts, six jackets (why six? No idea), all the underwear I had in my drawer even though I only wear a handful religiously.
Somewhere in the chaos, I pulled on the outfit equivalent of a breakdown: a crop top that said 'NOPE' in big letters that I didn't know I had, and a pair of jean shorts.
I shoved my feet into a pair of Crocs. Then came the hair.
My arms moved on autopilot as I pulled yesterday's awkward, lopsided ponytail back into existence. It was a mess. A crime against grooming.
But it kept my hair out of my face. For now. And I wasn't about to admit this Frankenstein of a hairstyle had actually become my go-to.
I paused at the mirror. Stared. Then shuddered.
I looked like I had just lost a fight. With life. And fashion. Possibly also a raccoon.
Eyes puffy. Hair fighting gravity and dignity. Lips chapped.
I zipped my bag shut with the strength of a woman holding on to her last brain cell. Grabbed my phone. Took one last look around.
I slung my overstuffed tote onto one shoulder, grabbed the handle of my suitcase, and bolted out of my room.
The suitcase groaned in protest, like it knew what kind of day we were about to have.
Halfway down the stairs, the wheel gave out. Just—gave up on life.
There was a sad little pop, followed by a pathetic wobble, and then that dragging noise. You know the one. Like sandpaper on concrete.
I hissed through my teeth. "Not today. Not today."
I tried to adjust the angle. Lifted it. Dropped it. Kicked it gently like a loving parent trying to motivate their child.
It responded by twisting sideways and smacking into the banister.
"Damnit."
My tote slipped down my arm, nearly taking me with it. I barked out a tired laugh, the kind that came from a place deep in my soul where caffeine used to live.
Every stair felt like a punishment. My body was already sore, my mind foggy, and now I was basically dragging a wounded animal behind me.
By the time I hit the bottom floor, I was sweating, panting, and lowkey considering setting the suitcase on fire.
But hey—thirty days away. That should count for something at least.
All I had to do was survive the next hour.
Easy, right?
Right?
•••