6:00am (3:00am SEQUEL) // Jori fan fic

Chapter 11 - Cinderella (Part 1)

"Andre, I'm telling you, this motherfucker actually called me, look!" I spat, probably a little too loud for a calm afternoon, thrusting my old phone at him like it was some kind of freaky treasure map. His eyes went wide, and I could practically see the doubt clouding his brain like smoke from a bad joint.

"Wait, did you answer it?" He asked, eyes flicking between me and the phone like I'd just told him I could summon Cthulhu with it.

"Yeah," I grumbled, dragging on my cigarette like it was the last thing keeping me tethered to this miserable planet. "I didn't say anything. He didn't either. It was like, he was... there, but not there. You know, ghost-call shit."

Andre threw his hands up in the air, like he was giving up on me for the hundredth time. "There you go. Your dad got arrested, right? Probably some number got recycled or some old lady's dialing for bingo or something. Just a false alarm, Jade." He took a sip of his coffee like this was just another Tuesday.

I blew out a cloud of smoke and leaned back, contemplating my very existence. "You're probably right," I muttered, watching the smoke swirl like my thoughts. "Just some stupid glitch." But deep down, I felt like I was chasing something—maybe an answer, or maybe just the illusion of one. Who knows?

Andre, ever the moral compass, suddenly got all prissy on me. "You ever planning on quitting that thing?" He asked, making a face like I'd just lit a fire in his grandmother's living room.

I smirked, letting the smoke roll off my tongue. "Nope. Too fucked up to quit now, buddy. At least the cigarettes know I'm trash." I took another drag, then pulled my feet up onto the seat, tucking them under me like a damn secret.

Andre, god bless him, managed to calm me down through the dad-call drama. But of course, my brain, always needing some extra chaos, turned to the next disaster waiting to happen: Babe. The dinner with Tori. Shit, what if she found out? What if she flipped? Nah, I could always pull the "we're just friends" card. Tori'd get it. But then, Cat would be a better choice. She wouldn't start a fight about it. Only problem? She's busy off doing God-knows-what with Sam.

I sighed, leaning back into the couch. "Guess I'll just have to argue with Babe about it later," I said, like that was some form of self-care.

Honestly, though? Part of me was looking forward to it. Because nothing says self-destruction like a fight with a girl who doesn't understand why you need to breathe a little in the chaos.

The car screeched to a halt, like it knew it was as tired of me as I was of it. I slammed the door shut and locked it out of sheer habit, then turned to see a black Mercedes A-Class pull up next to me. It was sleek, shiny, and the kind of car that screamed "I'm rich, and I don't give a shit if you know it." A guy stepped out, his black hair too perfect, his tan too smooth, and his style too expensive to be real. He looked like he just walked off a GQ cover, and I hated him for it immediately.

I shook it off and headed for the elevator, but of course, Mister Fancy-Pants decided to share the ride with me.

"So, you new here?" His low voice broke the silence, like I needed a reminder that people like him existed.

"We don't have to talk," I snapped, trying to avoid this awkward-ass interaction.

"Right, right," he chuckled, clearly thinking he was charming. "I just couldn't help but strike up a conversation with a beautiful girl like you that's probably been here all this time, but I was probably just too blind to see that."

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought I might pass out. "Yeah, sure," I muttered, too exhausted for this shit. "I'm new."

"Nice," he said, his voice now overly friendly, the kind of warmth you get from someone who thinks a smile can solve all problems. "I live here too, just got back from a trip to Spain, you know? Maybe I've just missed you." His words lingered in the air, like a bad perfume I couldn't escape.