Scandal

one

I opened my eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the sunlight shining through the window on the opposite wall. I rolled over tugging my blanket further over my head, not in the mood to get up. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep, only to fail. With every movement I made a sharp pain shot through my back, it was almost unbearable also not to mention my pounding headache. I decide to get up and get a glass of water and hopefully some Advil to soothe my aching body.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, I gasped at the sight of my destroyed apartment. I almost forgot the events that took place mere hours ago. I guess part of me was hoping, praying that it was only a dream, but by the looks of my utterly ruined apartment and the awful pain in my body, I knew it wasn't. I strayed over to the kitchen weary of all the shattered glass and wood lying on the floor. The table lays flipped over on the floor, broken plates and vases surrounding it. I leaned against the sink and grabbed a glass from the cabinet above then filled it with water before heading over to the medicine cabinet in search of some sort of painkiller. I let out a low sigh when I couldn't find anything that would help relieve me from my sore back. I had no doubt my back was covered in bruises. I tried my best to refrain from thinking about last night as I walked over to the living room. At least my living room didn't look like it'd been through hell and back. Kyle was lying down on the sofa past out. He most likely came home late... drunk something I was all too familiar with.  I was half tempted to throw the remaining water from my glass at his face. I laughed at the thought before turning around and heading back to our room.

I plopped down onto our bed, immediately regretting my fast actions as I almost doubled over in pain from my back. I grabbed my phone and groaned at the time. It was noon which meant I had to go to work in two hours, surely wasn't looking forward to that.

I had two missed calls from Dylan. I quickly called him back and placed my phone up to my ear. He answered on the second ring.

"Celeste!" he basically shouted into the phone.

"Whoa, can you try not to fracture my ear drum," I said after letting out a laugh. It was nice to hear his voice. We haven't talked in a couple of weeks; we've just been too busy lately, and I stopped making time for friends.

"Ha-ha, sorry! I'm just glad you called me back. I miss you and I need someone to rant to. So much has gone on work, I barely had a chance to breath"

"I'm all ears." I replied while picking myself up so I was sitting against the headboard of my bed. I loved listening to Dylan rant. He was my best friend, and I've known him my whole life. He is with out a doubt the only person I miss back home in D.C. I haven't seen him ever since I left two years ago and I still hadn't got used to not having him around all the time. So it was nice to talk to him on the phone every once in a while. He works as a security guard at The Smithsonian American Art Museum. He always talks about how 'demanding' his job is and how 'lives are on the line at every second' but I believe he's just over exaggerating. You would have to be either insane or really fucking stupid to try and rob a national museum like the Smithsonian. They have security everywhere; there would be no way anyone- no matter how smart they were -would be able to get away with it.

"So, remember how I was telling you we put up a new collection a couple weeks back. Yeah, well Mrs. Higgens, the owner of all the stuff, is fucking insane! She makes us check up on 'the fist' every half an hour, just to make sure it wasn't stolen or damaged."

"Wait, the fist?" I interrupted him.

"Yeah, its literally just some really old bronze fist statue. Its called the 'Fist of Capitalism' I don't know its history but I heard its worth 50 million. But anyway, Mrs. Higgens once came over to me in disguise and started asking me all the questions if I heard any rumors about someone trying to steal the fist. I was on duty, so I told her I couldn't talk and walked away. I didn't know it was her until later that day when I got called down to speak with my boss. He told me that Mrs. Higgens wanted everyone to keep a close eye on me because I was 'sketchy.' ! That bitch is damn insane, and to top it off she complained that I was 'rude to tourists,' the nerve of that woman. She's so worked up over someone stealing the fist, and I don't get it. Its as if she doesn't trust us. When I'm almost positive we could keep it a hundred times safer at the museum than she could back at her place." I couldn't help but laugh at Dylan's story.