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

Chapter 22 - Veronica Welsh

I slid into my car like a sad raccoon escaping a trash fire of bad decisions. My phone buzzed, and I groaned out loud like life itself had just tried to reach me about my car's extended warranty. Again.

Why do I groan so much?
Probably repressed rage. Or gas. Jury's out.

I pulled my phone out and saw Tori's name flashing like a neon sign I didn't ask for but couldn't ignore. I hesitated. Then picked it up like it was laced with TNT.

"What," I answered flatly. No inflection. No emotion. Full Wednesday Addams-core.

"Hey! Wanna ride to school together?" she asked, all chirpy and innocent like she didn't emotionally waterboard me last night. "I would've asked Trina, but she left in a hissy fit about me not having a license."

Tori Vega: Bringing drama since 2007.
Also, she has a point. Trina driving is a risk to national security.

"You're turning 18 in a few weeks, Missus Peters," I muttered, trying to stay in character. "You really need to start thinking about getting a license and not dying in a car driven by your sister. But... sure. I'll pick you up. For the project," I added, putting invisible air quotes around it with my tone and my soul.

"Oookay! I'll be waiting. Bye, Jake." She giggled.

And there it was.

That giggle.

That fucking giggle that made my heart slam against my ribs like it owed me money. I rolled my eyes at myself. You are literally the worst. I laughed under my breath, bitterness laced in sugar, then mounted my phone on the dash like I wasn't spiraling.

Car on. Phone connected. Spotify on shuffle because I live recklessly.

As I rolled out of the garage, I noticed some creeper lurking by my car. He wandered off toward another vehicle. Normal Tuesday shit in L.A., I thought, choosing to ignore the side quest and instead turned the corner.

Cue soundtrack:

"Say My Name" by KNGDAVD. "

I started drumming on the steering wheel with the heel of my palm, singing like a girl who's been through three breakups and still hasn't unpacked her emotional trauma.

"Please, oh please, I don't know what you're sayin'...When you look at me, your body speaks a language I can barely read..."

Yeah. No shit, David. Try emotionally decoding someone who kissed you last night and then called you "Jake" like it was a goddamn roleplay.

I pulled into Tori's street, spotting the brunette herself waiting outside with her cute sunglasses and her dangerously weaponized smile. I rolled the windows down, turned the music up to mildly obnoxious, and yelled:

"Get in, Beth!"

She laughed, shaking her head like I wasn't completely unhinged, and slid into the passenger seat like we were starring in a low-budget rom-com with unresolved sexual tension and a weird amount of cigarettes.

She gave me a light kiss on the cheek, and my brain went full Windows XP error message for a solid five seconds.

Last night replayed in my head like a highlight reel on mute, and then Babe's apology played right after it like a YouTube ad I didn't want to see. This was so not good for my mental health. But hey, at least I looked hot while having an emotional breakdown.

I fought the urge to headbang and drove us to the nearest Starbucks for caffeine and poor life choices.

We shouted like drunk sorority girls at a karaoke night. Then I pulled out a cigarette like the bad boy in every teen drama who definitely has trauma and one-liners for days.