(Spin-off of Imaginary, more so specifically it's second book, Severity)
Cleo Vexer, a problematic teenage girl, is the sensation of your average pessimist and mediocre criminal. Still having to survive the rest of her senior year bitter and lonely...
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It wasn't until a conversation about dinner that I remembered how wealthy the Allway family was.
Riley could go on and on about the dishes the chefs would make, and how she loves the originally of simple foods. Though she gave it up to be here; with half a box of Top Ramen stocked in a cabinet, a bowl of KitKats, and two boxes of cereal. This was the life she wanted in exchange for freedom, living in a small apartment with a shelf of books as entertainment.
Though tonight, she was having an undeniable craving for her favorite restaurant's pasta. I could go without it but to be honest, I still was going to do it anyways out of pity. Even if she looked content with Stargirl in her hands on the couch yesterday afternoon, I knew this type of life would run thin.
"Hey, I'll be back soon!" I call out as I grab my keys and slip on my shoes.
Riley looks over from the couch. "Okay!"
As I closed the car door, I sat in there for a moment as I looked at the menu to order it to-go. Just to say, the prices weren't pretty. Sixty dollars was the pasta and everything else was not something I could fit into a good budget. I could cry thinking about how much money the Allway family could spend on a single dinner.
I order Riley's meal, subconsciously not minding the excuse to miss another day's dinner. My mind was nowhere near sane after the aftermath of the past two days; there was no energy left in me to want more than the ability to breathe.
My phone rings; I accept the call and press it into my ear and shoulder as I slam the car door. "Hello, this is Cleo."
"Hey, it's Caslon." His voice is soft; sweet. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm searching for her again. My dad doesn't want to report it because it'll ruin the family image if people find out she's a runaway, much to my disagreement, so I'm at least going to try again myself."
I bite the inside of my check. I don't like how fragile his words are, and how easily I have broke his hopes before he even has tried to follow them.
I gradually slow down in my steps, the restaurant almost before my feet. "I'm sorry I can't help look for her tonight, but if anything happens tell me."
"Yeah, yeah don't worry." It's like I can hear a small smile tug his lips, like I've learned to tell. "You'll be the first person I tell."
"Okay," I whisper because I don't trust my voice to speak louder without breaking. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight Cleo," The call ends there.
I exit the restaurant with the plastic bag digging into my arm, my wallet thinner.
Now, the smart, sensible part of me would get some cheap fast food and slide a white lie to Riley about why I didn't order a meal for myself at the restaurant she cooed for. But in a fable instinct, I thought I felt my stomach cinch tighter, like it couldn't fit a single bite of a greasy cheeseburger down my throat.
So my head ducks to my feet as I condone myself in the airtight confinement of my car, my body needing a long pinch to function.
When my car brushes the open road, my foot suddenly feels like a brick as it presses against the accelerator. I pass by every fast food restaurant with no hesitation as I make my way to Riley, subconsciously agreeing that it'd been better that there was only one styrofoam box beside me, a box with food that wasn't mine.
It didn't feel right, of course it didn't feel right.
But it was temporary. And when I can't help it, temporary is fine.
