Salmonella

Chapter 22

🫧Twenty-Two🫧

Two dreary weeks go by and the spring term ends. Though I've already registered for a couple summer courses, so I'm not exactly on vacation just yet.

After breakfast, I go to change for work when I realize there aren't any tops in my drawers. Huh? But I just did laundry last week. I search all over—the closet, shelves; nothing. I grit my teeth.

Terra.

"What did you do?" I demand, finding the girls in the kitchen. Their leader sits sipping some fancy latte, tail stretched out on the table; the other floats by the counter bopping her head absently to music. Their eyes slowly rise to meet mine.

"I don't know, what did we do?" Terra feigns innocence, but the subtle smile in her eyes confirms my suspicions.

I dig my nails deep into my palms to keep from lunging at her and gouging out those eyes until they can't smile anymore. "Give me back my clothes," I say calmly, "Or I will be late for work. You know, the more I go to work, the sooner I'll have a career and I can move out. Then I'll be out of your hair, because I know you hate me. It's a win-win."

"Don't tell me you actually prefer the old, worn-out guppy clothes that don't fit you over the nice new clothes that do?" Gigi sips cooly at a roeba tea.

I glower at them. Terra snakes a hand into her lap and tosses an item onto the table, those devious eyes trained on me the whole time. It's the see-through bra top they forced on me that day in the mall. 

"Just tell me where my clothes are."

Terra ignores me. "You go out in this, or you go out in your pajamas. It's your choice."

God, these demons get worse every day. "I'll wear it," I groan. "Just give me a sweater at least, or I'll be cold."

She gives me a wry smile. She knows I'm lying because the water's warm out today.

"Fine," she says anyway. "You can have one of ours. Gïg." She turns to her follower, who steals wordlessly off to their room and returns with some fancy Saline-knockoff-looking sweater way more akin to Asslas' aesthetic than mine. I grab the items, ignoring their smug looks and dive for the solace of my own room, changing quickly. I pale when I check my reflection. The clothes are so out of place on my body. I look like an awkward child playing dress-up and trying to be trendy.

But whatever. My dignity today is a small sacrifice for the life I'll have tomorrow. Just as soon as my art gets more popular, I'll be out of here. No shitty sweaters, no shitty sisters, no shitty managers. Just have to hold out a little longer.

I wrap the sweater tightly around myself, having to hold it there with a hand because of course the girls gave me one without any buttons.

"Ella? Is that really you? I didn't recognize you," teases Dolphin #10 as I slide onto his back. I roll my eyes, leaning over him to tap the green button on the screen.

I was at Gen's house a few weeks ago when the issue of my commute to work came up in our conversation, so she convinced me to download the dolph service app. She insisted on adding me to her account at first, but I don't like using other people's money, so she showed me how to set up my own. It's really convenient; now I don't have to rely on the girls for a ride and I also don't have to... steal someone else's, hehe.

"Don't ask," I grumble, letting my face plop onto the back of his head. We've gotten a lot closer since our first awkward encounter; he's more like a friend now. I've always felt more comfortable around animals, anyway. 

"I won't, I won't," he promises. "But are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I muffle into his skin, and he doesn't press me anymore; just wishes me well when he drops me off at Paints.