DONE ✔️ (UNDER EDIT)

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Seventeen.
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"Another one?" Marie asked, sounding as defeated as I felt.

I turned my phone off and placed it beside me, nodding.

My therapist had told me earlier not to take it to heart and to keep trying. It was the fifteenth rejection email I'd received in a matter of days.

"I'm sorry. Do you think it's because of the whole 'zombie apocalypse survivor' thing?"

I nodded again.

Of course it was. Our faces and names had been splashed all over social media for months. No one wanted a piece of us. Especially not when hiring us meant headlines, attention and risk.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the club tonight?" She asked, "Do a bit of dancing. Get your mind off it?"

I shook my head.

"Still recovering from last time."

Marie shrugged from her spot on the floor below the couch. She held a small mirror in one hand, mascara wand in the other, carefully finishing off her lashes. She was almost done with her makeup. No beanie in sight tonight. Her hair was pinned back, her makeup flawless, black dress hugging her in all the right places.

She looked good.

I, on the other hand, was in a tank top and black shorts, my hair still straightened from last night's endeavors. I'd tried to look presentable for my therapy appointment, but the second I got home, I'd changed into something comfortable.

Spike was having a sleepover at River, Caleb and Parker's for the night while Savannah, Marie and Kimmy were heading out clubbing again.

And I was staying exactly where I was.

My leg hurt more than it had in weeks. I'd had to buy new crutches this morning after losing the old pair somewhere between shots and bad decisions last night. My hangover still throbbed at the base of my skull, and nausea had been sitting in my stomach since I woke up.

I was looking forward to a quiet night. With a long shower, washing my hair for the first time in days, maybe a movie I wouldn't have to think too hard about.

As Marie finished her makeup, her phone buzzed.

"Got to help Kimmy with her hair," She sighed, standing just as a knock sounded at the door, "That'll be her. Come in!" She called and I flinched.

Yep, headache is still there and persistent.

We didn't hear the door open. Marie swiped her makeup off the coffee table into her bag in one dramatic sweep.

The knock came again.

"Come in, damn it!" She yelled, but there was still nothing, "I'm going to kill her." She muttered, stomping toward the door.