Lucky For You

4 | Lucky & Pissed

Chapter Four: Lucky & Pissed

"how we gonna act
like nothing's wrong?"
~ ruel

━━━━༻❁༺━━━━

Why do lab reports persist in draining the life from me?

I was pretty sure I was experiencing burn-out at this point, because ever since I came to the library a few hours ago to work, I'd gotten distracted a total of two dozen times.

It started when I thought I got a notification from my phone, so I'd lift it off the table and proceed to watch videos on Instagram. When I noticed this connection, I'd put it in my school bag—which was hanging on the back of my chair. But then, I'd only reach around and grab it. For absolutely no excuse.

I groaned, pressing my elbows on the cool, wooden table in front of me before dropping my face into my hands. "Why did I choose this program?" I grumbled to myself.

After a few seconds, I leaned back, feeling my romper move with me as I did so. It's been a week and a half since my confrontation with Jared, but the weather was still semi-warm, with it being the mid of September.

Unconsciously, I reached for my phone again, my thumb automatically clicking Instagram when my phone unlocked. There were pictures of people from my high school, drinking and partying, and some selfies here and there.

I smiled to myself when I saw Tilly post a picture I took of her outside yesterday. She was crouched down in front of the grey building, but although it was a dull background, she made up for it with wearing leather pants and a bright red scarf covering her chest.

She also wore her matching bandana and red lipstick—which were puckered. In her right hand, she was lifting her cigarette, with the caption: fuck fake bitches and their mamas.

Quickly, I liked and commented under the photo before continuing to scroll, only to freeze when I saw a picture of three guys, grinning widely with their arms over each others shoulder.

In the middle, was my ex. Griffin.

He was slim and tall, but he played soccer, which gave him nice legs. His oval face allowed for his eyes to be close together, which were one of his best features—dark lashes and upturned, light green eyes. He had light brown, medium length hair, too, in a curtain hairstyle.

He looks happy without you, Clove. We both are.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut—

"Clover?" Someone called out, and I released a breath before looking up from my phone, watching as Armando stepped outside of the mystery-genre bookshelf lane.

Since I was hiding out in the back of the second floor, while sitting in front of a circular, six-seater table, I was surprised he spotted me. "Hey, Beto."

His nearly black, round shaped eyes met mine and nearly disappeared when he smiled. "What are you doing all the way back here?" He pondered, crossing the rest of the distance between us.

I waited, watching him twist the seat across from me before sitting down, his chest pressed against the back of the chair. His tight curls were full as ever, and I couldn't help but wonder how they looked so perfect.

"Trying and failing to do my work," I answered with a sigh. "How about you? A mystery books lover I'm guessing?"

He gave a lopsided smile. "The only genre worth reading." He clasped his hands on the top of the chair, and I watched as his chest flexed under his blue tee. "I'm guessing you like romance."