Things aren't as nice as they were a few months ago. As cuffing season looms, Greta wraps herself around a cascade of bad decisions as she tries to take back what she had lost. But whether that'd be an assured future with Julien or a chaotic love wi...
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But despite the smell of food, Greta turned away to the deeper darkness that was the cushions of the couch she laid upon. She could still smell it, though. And reluctantly, she turned herself around to find the breakfast burrito seated near her.
And with that, instantly came the agony of pressure lodged into her membrane as the hungover proceeded to remind her of its lasting presence.
There was pain, and then there was a pleasure as soon as she stuffed parts of the hot burrito into her mouth. Eggs, bacon bits, cheese, and tortilla eased her suffering just long enough before she looked around to realize that she wasn't home.
In fact, she didn't recognize her surroundings whatsoever.
Then, sauntering from down the hall, Carmen Vasquez showed up. And Greta scowled, the taste of the burrito suddenly turning bitter. "Please tell me this isn't your place."
She, however, was somewhat passive to Greta's question for only a moment before making it back into the kitchen. "Yep. This is my crib. And to save you the curiosity, I was still waiting on my Lyft until you stumbled outta the building swigging that bottle down like it was orange juice. Therefore, you're here now. Congratulations. I saved your life."
"I didn't need your help."
"You're a drunk, skinny-ass white girl stumbling Seattle streets at night. You needed my help."
She rolled her eyes, refusing to accept some truths in Carmen's words, and instead submitting her mouth to the food once again. But soon, another query struck her curious mind. "Did we... Y'know..."
And laughing, Carmen stood back up to stare at her from across the apartment. "Relax, you're still straight and basic as fuck. But then again, you were rambling on about fucking some black guy. So maybe there's hope for you yet, Abney."
Greta shook her head and dismissed the words. But suddenly, there was a banging at the door. The force of the knock made even her jump in suspense before Carmen walked over to answer it. "Speaking of black guys..." She hummed to herself.
Then the suspense only escalated once Greta's mind raced around a conclusion.
But there was no way. She couldn't know who Malik was.
Could she?
"Hey," Greeted Carmen.
Then from the other side, there was a deep voice, tenderized from worry peering back. "She alright?"
"Come see for yourself..."
Carmen backed away. Then in came Malik, who stared down at Greta with such coldness and disdain despite his question.
