Faith Healer // JB

7.) Something

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Vera's POV:

The week moves incredibly slowly as I excitedly await seeing the boys again. It's Wednesday now, and I have three more clients before I can actually start counting down the hours until I can see my newfound friends. We've kept up regular conversations and FaceTime calls throughout these past few days, always dreading the time when our conversations must come to an end.

Due to the rapid influx of clients, the salon has been very stressful this past week, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm biting off more than I can chew. I try to distract myself from thinking about tomorrow by burying myself in work today. During the very few breaks I have, I've been doing anything but taking a break—washing color bowls, doing laundry, stocking—you get the deal.

I'm snapped out of focus by a familiar melody. Of course, I put "True Blue" on the salon playlist; why wouldn't I? I make a few futile attempts at regaining my focus before essentially giving up. The more I think about our hangout tomorrow, the more I realize it will be the last time I see them for a while. It might seem weird how attached I'm getting already—I mean, we've all known each other for less than two weeks—but it feels like there's this unexplainable force drawing me to them. I hope I don't seem as insane as I feel.

By 4 p.m., the lack of a break starts to hit me, and I'm mentally kicking myself for it. If only I had remembered that I needed to clean my apartment after work before the boys come over tomorrow. I finish up the head of foils that I'm working on and use the processing time to finally take that well-needed break. I walk into the back and practically throw myself onto my office chair. I scroll through my incoming emails on my computer while eating the banana I had mindlessly thrown into my bag this morning.

My mouse hovers over the newest email in my inbox. I click on the email without paying much attention to the title. I reread the first portion of what was sent a few times, my eyes not computing to my brain what I'm actually reading.

Holy shit.

A very popular product line that I feature in the salon has asked me to come be a lecturer at their upcoming event. Anybody who is anybody in the hair business is going, and they want me to do a lecture? You're kidding. I nearly jump out of my chair in excitement. What made them choose me? I mean, it must've been something, right?

The alarm on my phone pulls me out of my rapidly approaching spiral. I put all my thoughts aside and head out to the front to continue working on my client, hoping I can get through the rest of the day without any distractions.

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The sun has long since gone down before I finally toss my cleaning supplies back into the closet. My feet shuffle tiredly against the hardwood floors of my apartment as I make my way over to the balcony. I slide the door shut before grabbing the pack of Marlboro Golds that sit on the table, slipping one out before closing and tossing the pack back to its original spot.

I know I shouldn't smoke, I really do. It's a terrible habit I picked up as a teenager. I can't even count how many times I quit on both hands—I'll run out of fingers. When I'm stressed, depressed, or anxious, smoking is the only thing that gives me some immediate relief, and I'll say that this week has been pretty fucking stressful.

Just as I sit down, my phone starts to buzz. I turn to my screen and quickly accept the incoming FaceTime call from the group chat. I set up my phone in the same position as it was just a few nights prior. We all say our hellos; these calls have become a nightly routine. Phoebe and Lucy are calling from separate rooms in their Airbnb, while Julien is also sitting outside smoking.

"Don't you know those are bad for you, JB?" I tease while lighting my own cigarette. "Don't I know it," she says before taking another drag. "What d'you have?"

Before I can answer, Phoebe butts in, "I bet it's Golds; Vera seems like a Golds girl." I can't help but laugh, causing me to choke on the smoke I had just inhaled. As I'm coughing desperately, I hold up my pack of smokes to the camera, confirming Phoebe's suspicion. In the midst of me practically dying, the rest of the call erupts into laughter after Phoebe shouts something along the lines of, "Let's fucking go!"

Now that I've regained the ability to breathe, Lucy speaks up, asking what time they should all come over tomorrow.

"Uhm," I pause to think. "Probably around 10 a.m., so we still have most of the day but we're not meeting at the ass crack of dawn," I continue. Everyone agrees, and we continue talking for a while. I'm not sure how long though; by the time Phoebe and Lucy left the call, I was halfway through my third cigarette—three more than I should've smoked in the first place.

"What do you smoke?" I ask Julien after taking another drag. She shakes her head and laughs, "Guess."

I sit and think for a few moments; the light from the window above me would've turned me into a silhouette if not for the porch light beside me. "Reds," I state, semi-confidently.

Julien sucks in her breath like she's wounded. "Nope, Southern Cuts."

"Ugh, I completely forgot those existed," I whine. "Of course you smoke Southern Cuts."

"Now what is that supposed to mean?" She laughs.

"Well, I mean, you were 'born and raised in the South,'" I try my best to imitate a Southern accent before continuing. "If the boot fits." I can barely even finish my sentence because we're both laughing so hard. I like her laugh. It's soft and explosive and pure. When Julien laughs, it's like her entire body is laughing with her. Whether she's throwing her head back, burying her face in her hands, or leaning forward to the point she almost falls off the chair she's sitting in, she truly seems like she's always having the best time of her life.

"How does your voice sound so good even when you smoke?" The words fall out of my mouth like I never had control of them in the first place. Julien looks up to face me, her lips pulling into a smirk.

"You think my voice sounds good?" She teases, a small chuckle escaping from her lips.

"Well, I mean, it's alright, I guess," I scoff sarcastically, hoping it would draw attention away from my now rosy cheeks. It must've worked well enough, as we continue to talk and laugh until midnight without mention.

We say our goodnights a little after 12 a.m. When the call ends, I check all the doors in my house to make sure they're locked before crawling into bed, giddy and excited for the morning, like a child on Christmas Eve.

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Look at me go guys 2 updates in a week

TYSM for the 1.4k reads, I love y'all so much <3

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