𝐅𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 [𝟏𝟖+]

03

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'Your only problem is creating delusions in your head, which can't be improved by drinks and drugs, stupid girl. If anything you act more like a slut when you're not sober.'

'I'm so ashamed to call a reckless, ambitionless druggie my daughter.'

Talin's words started to crawl their way into my mind as I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to remember when she had said those ignorant, cruel, mean words.

"Excuse me! Look down and walk will you?" A female voice interrupted my musings, demanding my attention.

Cerebrally aware of the fact that I was just inches away from dashing into a short stranger, I shouldered past her with an apologetic smile, shelving the task of filling the gaps in my memory to some other day.

Gaps.

Huge. Deep. Insatiable.

There weren't just a handful of them, they're umpteen like sand granules on earth, and I'd spent years trying to fill them, day and night, hour after hour, moment after executing moment, even when my body refused to work, my strength ebbed and my hope weaned.

I knew nothing lasts forever in the realms of perception, even ethereal concepts like hope and love humans carry. Memories were no exception to it. No matter how eidetic, how visceral and how vehement a memory was, it was bound to fade away one day. Maybe it was the natural course of life — holding on and letting go. Older people's and abused individuals' memories were often impaired. At twenty-four, I was neither old nor abused — as claimed by medical records. Then why I had trouble recollecting memories was a mystery.

"Corrine!" Tina's voice sliced through the tension hung in the air. As a miasma of resentment and pain mauled my guts, I strolled faster, keeping my head high, as if I hadn't just become a laughingstock.

"Damn it! Stop sprinting..." A hand wrapped around my arm.

Donning my archetypal mask of flippancy, I chuckled. "You call this sprinting. Are you sure you're not weak between the legs?"

Astounded by my façade of frenzy, Tina's mouth fell open as a red hue rode her cheekbones. She blinked her eyes, fighting off the blush. "Where did you leave your brain-mouth filter?"

"At my place. Fucking thing was too heavy to carry around." I gave her a frivolous look while we traversed to the staircase.

Tina rolled her eyes at my response but let our confab lull. We descended the stairs in silence and made our way to the cafeteria when Tina said she needed to grab her lunch.

Hodophile's Holdings' cafeteria was perhaps built to improve its employees' engagement — an open space inviting lots of natural sunlight and great views. A wood-beamed ceiling integrated the wall-to-wall windows and hanging fern planters and an oversized island counter hosted the barista section. Employees occupied the bentwood chairs lining the round wooden tables.