𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙮, John Shelby

- 05

- CHAPTER FIVE -

- IN WHICH THEY HAVE A RUN IN

. . .

A BEATING PAIN IN the very top of her head had caused Rory to awaken a few days later. She wasn't exactly surprised, a Friday night down in the pub seemed to do that for her, whether she was working or not. Even if it was just the slightest of things, a small, dull ache by her temples forced herself to sit up. Her hair was a knot at the back of her neck, a line of smudged eyeliner running down her rosy cheek.

"Fucking hell." She whined, eyes flickering shut again in the harsh morning light. The words didn't seem to sound right coming from her at all, yet she just felt far too out of it to really know what was leaving her lips.

She had drunk a lot of different alcohols - and the drinks were so cheap they couldn't possibly be that alcoholic. It hadn't hit her during the evening, which was probably what urged her to continue drinking, but it was certainly catching up now.

It was quickly fixed though, and when the girl finally forced herself out of bed and over to the tiny kitchen, muttering incoherent words under her breath. She  swiftly boiled her kettle, a plain white mug being placed beside it and a handful of tea leaves.

She added a teaspoon of honey and a sprinkling of ginger, half a grapefruit being scooped out and placed on a plate. Sadie instantly pounced on her lap the moment she sat down, purring away happily after the girl had finished her mug of tea and began to scratch behind her ears.

Then she prepared a saucer of milk for the very pampered white cat - who had already provided a mouse that morning - before pulling on her thigh-high cream socks, both of which had a mesh rim with flowers on it, and then her black scuffed cargo boots.

Leaving her teacup to soak in the sink, Rory said goodbye to Sadie who had settled on the end of her bed, placing various items in her bag and slipped out of the door.

She knew she was slightly late, but that didn't seem to matter. Because when she appeared at her place of work for the morning - a small bakery with a light blue front door - and entered the premises of the building, she spotted Mrs Wetherbee only just beginning to lie out her assortment of treats for the day.

"Oh, good morning, dearie," Mrs Wetherbee beamed up at the girl. "You're just on time, customers usually come in any moment now."

"Okay, thank goodness, I thought I was late." Rory's head peered over her shoulder as reached up to get an apron off of the line of pegs at the very back of the room. "Well I can run here for a while if you wanted to get those chores done?" She suggested, remembering the reason she'd been asked to help out in the first place.

"Yes, that would be wonderful." The woman looked in the reflection of the glass casing covering the treats, left hand reaching up to untangle her hair before she untied her apron and hung it up where the other one had previously been.

"Here, I'll get that." The Miller girl smiled kindly at the lady, stopping her from rearranging the shelves and sending her on her way out of the shop.

And once she was gone, lilac hat no longer visible behind the Bakery windows, Rory collapsed in the stall behind the counter. She was utterly exhausted after her evening, dark eyes showing no form of life behind them.