Brutal Kings...damn..{Ongoing)

19

"Fine, I admit it. I'm jealous," Vivian confessed, her voice breaking slightly as she collapsed onto the bed. She covered her eyes with her arm, as though shielding herself from the weight of her own words, and let out a long, heavy sigh. The girl beside her, Anna, leaned back against the headboard, her notebook open on her lap. She absently twirled a pen between her fingers, her eyes drifting over the science textbook summarizing the complexities of the human mind. But neither the notes nor the theories could explain the uproar boiling in Vivian's chest.

"It's just... it's unfair," Vivian continued, her voice thick with bitterness. "She has everything, and now she's with him too." Her words were raw, jagged. The jealousy gnawed at her insides, twisting with every thought of the girl she found so intimidating. Worse still, that same girl was living under the same roof as the boy Vivian had openly admired for years. "I wish it were me instead," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, knowing Anna's eyes were on her.

"Seriously?" Anna's voice cut through the silence, her disappointment palpable. Vivian didn't need to look to know Anna's shoulders had sagged under the weight of her response. "You're sitting here, drowning in jealousy, when you should be thinking about your life." Anna's voice grew firmer, the concern edging out the frustration. "You still don't have your job back. It's been almost a month, and Mr. Bobby hasn't called you after that 'two-week break.' Shouldn't you be worried about that?"

Vivian stayed quiet.

After three long weeks, Vivian finally made her way to the bar, desperate to remind the owner of his promise to lift her suspension. She hadn't been able to reach him by phone despite her countless attempts. But when she arrived, it wasn't Mr. Bobby she found—it was her. The red-haired girl, the one who had always rubbed her the wrong way, was now in charge of the bar. Disgust and disbelief churned in Vivian's stomach as she turned on her heel and stormed out. Her hands trembled as she dialed Anna's number, barely able to contain the bitterness in her voice when she told her the news.

"They finally went public with their relationship," she spat into the phone, though her heart sank at the thought. How could Mr. Bobby, knowing the rigidity between them, appoint her as the director? It felt like a betrayal. He must have known that the red-haired girl wouldn't allow her back—it was the only explanation. The realization hit Vivian like a punch to the gut, and she found herself crying to her colleague later that day, the helplessness of it all overwhelming her.

Now, three days into the fourth week, she was still job-seeking. She understood why Anna was worried. Her mother was drowning in her late husband's debts, and Vivian had to help with the household bills. The pressure of it felt unbearable. Why couldn't she be like other kids, carefree and not forced to carry the burden of their family's survival?

Her resentment towards her father grew with every passing day. He had gambled everything away—their house, their possessions—and then died, leaving them to pick up the pieces. Every time her mother was harassed by the people he owed, every time she wept in silence, Vivian felt a burning anger rise within her. Her mother was withering under the strain, a woman in her early forties who looked like she was in her sixties, her hands worn and cracked from work. No manicured nails, no styled hair, no moments of joy. Just endless hours selling steaks by the roadside, trying to scrape together enough to settle the debts he had left behind.

It was his fault, Vivian thought bitterly, every time she saw her mother attempt to rest after yet another exhausting day. He had ruined them, taken away every chance at peace or happiness, and left them with nothing but sorrow and struggle. She blamed him with every fiber of her being, watching as her mother, despite her own exhaustion, still begged her to stop worrying and take care of herself. But how could she?