Chapter 14

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It's my fingers that wake up first. The twisting and twitching and forming at my knuckles, I swear it was the power to break their very bones. They grip onto the sheets, contacting movement in my arms and down my chest into waist and legs. My legs yank up, along with the rest of my body, the sweat collecting on my forehead. Marimba playing, so calm but I'm not.

I grab my phone and answer it, my voice startling myself with its gruff tone, "Hey Mary."

"Hey. Do you want to meet me for lunch?" Lunch? I turn to check the clock. 10:34. I slept that long? That meant I slept over 12 hours, but maybe it was because of that horrifying nightmare.

"Sure. Where and what time?"

"Benny's and 11:15. Is that good?"

"Great. See you there."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye."

I slam my palms to my eyes, itching them harshly, forcing myself to completely wake up. I can't believe it. I can't believe her. It's not even fair.

I pull back the covers and walk to my dresser, choosing very quickly a floral t-shirt and light colored denim high-waisted shorts. I change into them quickly (definitely not bothering to see how I look, I honestly just needed something quick since I'd have to wait for a bus). I brush my teeth and hair rather rushed and without warning my parents, which I will in no doubt be scolded for eventually, leave the house. The sun is really out there today, beating down on my skin that I could almost feel myself burning. I wipe the already-sweat off my brow with the back of my hand and take out my phone. Standing at the bustop I text Mary:

Sorry if I'm late by the way, I have to wait for the bus.

In only a few minutes (which means I have already boarded the bus) she responds:

That's fine. If you show up late I'll order for you.

Typical Mary, she knows exactly what I want. Mary, Madelyn, and I have been to Benny's so much just for lunch that we're considered huge regulars, but I never attend the deli with my parents or alone. Secretly I'm not all that into the place but do it out of everyone else's pleasure.

"Destination, miss?" I realize that I never told the bus driver where I wanted to go. Luckily though we still had at least two minutes before we got to "my destination".

"Seventy Street."

"Perfect, already have a few getting off there. Reminds me folks, please gather your stuff because that stop is soon."

That's odd. Seventy Street is a little street in the middle of an alley way surrounded by cute little, old shops that usually get no business. There's a little boutique at the end of the street, with old-fashioned clothing, like floral pantsuits and other things that could've been made from the seventies (pretty sure that's why it's called Seventy Street, with all its retro shops and diners, a real joy for a classic freak like me) and one time I purchased an adorable plaid crop-top shirt. I can't even say how much I've worn it, it's my favorite.

In other words, though, Seventy Street is usually not a very popular stop since it's completely downtown and doesn't have modern attractions. But that's basically why I myself love it. An escape to old times before the internet controlled everyone and people had the decency to enjoy a shopping trip here and there.

"And that's it, Seventy Street."

Before I can even stand up, someone rushes down the aisle with a bookbag and headphones locked onto their ears. I just somehow knew it. I just somehow knew that this moron would show up back into my life, even though they were already exceeding their limit of amounts of times I could handle them being my life. And yet, they have the nerve to ignore me! They actually have the nerve to look at me with those stupidly beautiful eyes and just overlook me? Well, that manner would not be tolerated by me, and they knew it.

Numbers (Louis Tomlinson)Where stories live. Discover now