There's A Fighter In Me

Chapter 5: There's A Dreamer In Brad

Hi guys! Apologies for taking such a long time to post new chapters. Our fellow Fighter has been unwell, sadly. However, we will continue to put in as much effort as possible to post new chapters, filled with fun and proper grammar. THANKS FOR READING!

xoxo,

Murshi, Kinah and Hiki 

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"Hey girl!"

"Brad?"

My heart skips a beat when I hear someone approaching me in the middle of the bustling street. There are people from all walks of life, 60 percent of them holding shopping bags and fru fru drinks. It's Brad, the part-time mailman who happens to be shopping too. I'm surprised he still remembers me. I've surprised myself too. It's been almost a month since we met and I practically drooled on him. 

Don't blame me. He looks like he just walked out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. I haven't seen him ever since. This town may be considerably small, but you barely walk past someone you know these days.

"Yeah It's me. Surpise, surprise. My boss told me to take the day off; I pissed off a kindergartener's mom. So, I decided to celebrate here at Sunday Street.  What are you doing here?"

"I've just been pampering myself. I got a manicure, a whole new wardrobe and the most expensive latte off the Starbucks menu," I raise my full arms, making sure that he sees all the bags.

"Listen, I gotta go. My mom wants me to follow her to a doctor's appointment."

"Okay. Let's at least hug and exchange numbers."

"You're not getting a hug. But I'll give you my number for emergency use," I retort, trying to make myself sound as cool as possible. I think that's how Jessica entices people. She glows with confidence and charm. Maybe I should try that too, sometime. Sometime soon.

I take off afterwards and head back home to drop off my stuff and change into a comfier outfit. I have to admit; mod boots, black velvet skinnies and a tee is no where near as comfy as a tee and plain old jeans. 

                                                                          ~

 "Hello, Mrs Dexter! This must be your daughter. She's such a lovely girl. You're looking good yourself," the receptionist cooes.

I smile sweetly at her, but I know the only reason why she's being so nice to us is because she doesn't want to get on Mom's bad books. Mom has a long history of making enemies of strangers; be it that lady in the queue at Target or the newspaper boy.

After being shown into the doctor's room, Mom leaves me in the reception area. I pick up a magazine with a picture of Coco Rocha slapped across the cover and flip through it. It's about beauty. How typical. There are articles on how to conceal facial imperfections and redness, and how to pair a maxi with two toned sandals.

Is there nothing about gardening or furnitures here? Apparently not.

I use up what's left of my battery and while time away on my overheating smartphone.

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I'm addicted to you don't you know that you're toxic...

My god. Why is Britney Spears blasting under my ear? And then it hits me. My phone is ringing. Damn. I should've lowered the volume last night.

Who on earth is calling me at midnight? I need at least 8 hours of rest to fully function in the morning. I roll over and pull my phone from underneath my pillow. 

"Brad?" the caller ID shocks me. Why would he be calling me? And at this late hour.

Hello? Brad, is that you? I ask groggily. I'm intent on ending this phone call asap.

Hey Annie! What's goin on?

I'm scuba diving; that's what's going on. Remind me again why you're calling me at midnight?

No need for sarcasm. And I'm calling you to talk to you.

Okaaaay...

Ask me something; anything.

Why are you a mailman? Shouldn't you be in college or something?

Well, it all started like this.

I braised myself for the coming, upon hearing that. This is going to be a long night.

My mom's filthy rich and she practically supports the family since my dad doesn't earn too much. Then one day in my senior year, she left. Took off for her childhood sweetheart. And she took all her money with her. So we're practically broke since I have three other siblings. I got into UCLA but we can't afford it. So I took on a high-paying part time job for about 2 years until I got fired for sleeping on the job so now I'm a mailman and will be till September when I finally enrol into UCLA.

Woah, Brad! Get some air, man!

Applaud me. Any other questions?

We chat for the next 45 minutes. It turns out that Brad is really into arts and has always wanted to be a painter. He says he's willing to sacrifice everything just to study there and graduate.

As I lay on my bed -at 1 in the morning- I thought of what Brad had said during our long phone call.

"I don't mind working as a mailman, as long as I can live my dream. You shouldn't give up either, no matter what fate throws at you. Remember that."