The Rules to Redemption

Chapter 2: Tallia vs The boss

Hey bitches,

Round 2.

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Regret. We all experience it, wishing we could go back in time and warn our younger selves to refrain from doing a single thing knowing it would take away all the guilt and pain of the present. Until reality hits and you realise that time travel doesn't exist and you're facing the consequences of your own stupidity.

Spending hours upon hours in front of the mirror debating my whole life out had almost become the norm for me.
Blunt stares at my outfit , my hair choices not to mention the lack of makeup on my face.

The pale grey colour of my blazer and pants complimented my tanned skin tone, my beach waved hair that I had both straightened and re-curled dropped across my face elegantly though I wasn't satisfied.
The more I looked, the more I thought about how much I hated it.
My hair was overly flat at the top not to mention the fact that I was very uncomfortable wearing blazers.

I fucking hate fashion standards. From now on I AM THE FASHION STANDARD.

That's right bitch, by order of Tallia every whore should dress like me.

I was exceptionally close to screaming 'fuck it' and rocking up sporting grey joggers and a hoodie.
Then I remembered I have to actually appear as normal.
However hard that may be.
"Fuck it Tallia. You're a bad bitch stop thinking!" I scolded myself in the mirror.

Having given up with my subconscious messing with my thoughts, I prepared myself for the day ahead.
My phone was overloaded with messages. Most were from my mother, wishing me good luck and very few were from Malachi who was probably drunk or high...or both.
'"Fuck this stupid piece of sh-," I grown shrugging the blazer off of my shoulders.
How the fuck do people wear this?!

I ran through my suitcase and eventually picked up a white blouse with a black skirt. I also paired them with black heels.
I hate skirts as well.

Maybe I picked the wrong occupation.
I should have become a chick-fil-a worker.

Basic? sure but it was the safe option though you would think I would have been a little more organised. Apparently not.
Grabbing my bag and a jacket, I sprint out the door whilst almost busting my ankle on the sidewalk. The firm was not too far from where I lived so I decided to both save money and not run into anymore crackheads thus walking to work.
On the way, I stopped by a petite coffee shop due to currently being deprived of breakfast.
The menu made my head hurt, that or my laziness to read became apparent so I ordered a regular coffee knowing I'll still be starving by the end of it and in pain. Caffeine and me, we don't like each other.

"Hi, can I get a regular coffee please?" I ask the waitress who looked as if she wanted to murder everyone in her presence.

She was pretty, jet black hair yet these green-brown eyes though both contrasted with the attitude she gave off.
It almost reminded me of myself.
Though I think as humans we tend to look for ourselves in everyone that isn't us. Whether that is in order to hate them or desire them is entirely you.

"No." She sarcastically replies placing my order.

Bitch!
I kind of like her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"  I question obliviously, I didn't care. Really, I didn't. Though conversations about anything other than thinking of today is something I won't let go of.

"I'm high and I have an 8 hour shift." She informs me.
Oh look, another crackhead.

She begins to spill out all the details of her current emotions and hallucinations as well as the fact that she had a stinging migraine.
I simply looked and every few seconds, I'd nod. Bearing brutal honesty, her words went right over my head.
Maybe this is how people feel when they talk to me.