Until I Met You

Chapter 11: Rosaline

There's a saying.

When life knocks you down, you get back up.

I bet you anything the motherfucker who came up with that saying had no idea what he was talking about. He probably lived in a mansion with mommy and daddy and got every little thing his spoiled ass could concoct in that tiny little head of his.

Because there is no rising up. Not from this.

Not when you drop the ball and get a demotion, only to find out that the asshole who you despise more than anyone else in this world got promoted, and basically your job. Now, Wyatt is probably dreaming of butterflies and rainbows in his sleep because he's so damn happy and Reggie will refuse to place his trust in me ever again. Not to mention Joey. Poor Joey never even had the chance to prove himself.

All. Because. Of. Me.

And now I have to drag my pathetic ass out of bed and get it to school, where I will most likely see him.

For the first time in a while, I don't feel like posing today, or pretending to be somebody I'm not. I throw on some dark blue jeans and a black hoodie. My hair is still straight from the party since I haven't had the motivation to shower and it looks like a bird made a nest out of it. I brush through it the best I can and put my hair up into a sleek ponytail that travels halfway down my back. I look decent but at school, nobody knows me as the girl who looks decent. So I can only imagine the stares that are going to be thrown my way. Whatever. Let them stare. Let them take a god damn photo while they're at it. I'll even supply the popcorn.

"What happened to you," Miranda asks, looking me up and down with her sleek eyebrow raised.

"What do you mean?" I ask impatiently, opening the fridge to see if we have any food I can use for school.

Of course not. There is literally a bottle of mayonnaise and a carton of old eggs sitting on the second shelf. That's it. How can these people have been granted the responsibility of raising a child, let alone themselves.

I slam it shut and place both of my hands on the counter, staring up at the ceiling. I pound my fists hard into the dirty, flimsy countertops over and over again.

Why? Why me!

"Well, that, for starters," Miranda breaks me out of my psychotic break.

"Haha," I state dryly. "I need to get to school."

I walk toward the front door, backpack in tow.

"Do you need a ride?" she asks, cleaning a dish with a large bath towel.

I don't think I've ever witnessed Miranda cleaning a dish in her life. I would normally point out the fact that she's doing it all wrong, but hell, I can't remember the last time I did the dishes. And who am I to stop her from doing something productive.

"Since when do you give me rides to school?"

"Since never. Just thought I'd be nice and ask," Miranda doesn't look up at me as she picks up another dish.

"Nice," I scoff. "Good one," I call out as I walk outside and begin my trek toward school.

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