The Loveless Letter (GirlxGirl)

Chapter 3

POV: Olivia

It was early in the morning, a week after the party, and I was already drinking.

Life hit me hard.

It sucker punched me in the gut.

It told me to fuck off.

I told it to fuck right off back.

I was back in my family home propped up on one of the stools in the kitchen, absolutely dead to the world.

That dreaded party had to have taken the cake as the worst day of my life.

And I was in a helicopter crash!

"Jesus Christ..." I mumbled as I put my face in my hands.

I finally made up my mind.

Finally.

Was this karma for leaving?

After all these years I thought I had the chance to take my shot, but it ended with Bree being engaged to a- a man. An ugly man. A man that I had never seen before.

"Fuck that puta!" I shouted to no one in particular.

"Damn maña, tell us how you really feel." Isabella said as she entered the kitchen.

"This is how I really feel. ¡Ese cabrón me robó a Bree!" I growled in response.

(That fucker stole Bree from me!)

I could feel the sting in my eyes, tears just on the surface of falling down my face at a rapid pace. I didn't want to cry. I knew this was all my fault, but it hurt all the same.

Why did I always fuck everything up?

Izzy walked over to where I was sitting and set her head on my shoulder. Her reassurance was like a life raft amid the open ocean. I needed that reassurance because I felt like I would drown. Drown in my own misery and never come back.

"I know. I'm sorry. Truly." Izzy whispered softly.

Olivia raked her hands over her face and groaned. "God, I have enough shit to deal with. Now this too? Fuck me."

I didn't want to admit it, but I was starting to think I had PTSD. The nightmares, the flashback, the awful anxiety, and countless other things I was dealing with... Daily. I told herself I was a big girl and that it was just a phase. It wasn't just a phase. This shit was real. It was staying with me whether I liked it or not.

"You not coming to work today?" Isabella asked.

Work...

The last thing on my mind was work.

If I was honest, though, it might help alleviate all of this bullshit swirling through my head. The last thing I wanted to think about was Bree right now. Just thinking in that general direction made me want to crawl into bed and lie under the covers forever.

"Sure, let me just get ready first, then we can be go." I said.

I should be glad my family even gave me a position.

We ran a local diner in town that was surprisingly popular. I was set to man the cash register. My family knew that I couldn't cook for shit and did me the favor of giving me a job I wouldn't fuck up. Plus, I was still recovering from my injuries.

Labor-intensive jobs were off the board for now.

Doctors' orders.

"Just don't be too long. We have to open today. Mamá wanted me to give you a message if you aren't time: Te voy a dar una hostia que te dejaré la cara como un Picasso." Izzy repeated, then scurried off, leaving me all alone again.