This is life.

50(p2) ➤ & dumber

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After finishing my two cents of the tender subject I noticed how her body was slightly swaying. "We should go back to your place. Michael is probably losing his mind."

"Eh. He's a heavy sleeper. I don't think he's realised yet." She dismissed. We both get off her car and throw the rubbish of our food away in a nearby trashcan. The parking lot was practically clear. There were about five other cars scattered in random spaces of the parking lot, but we were clear of any bystanders that might have overheard our conversation. "Are you still tired?" She asks as we both get into the car. "Not as much as before. I think the food helped." She yawns again. "The food didn't cut it for me."

"Why didn't he just...give me blood?"

"He said it'd be against the privileges of his access, something like that. He didn't want to get in trouble. But luckily he went along with me and helped you."

"Oh."

The ride is silent, but the good kind. Nothing more was really needed to be said at the moment, and to be truthful both of us are too tired to speak any more about the topic.

We reach the apartment complex soon enough. When the car comes to a stop, I feel my body slouch in relief, knowing I can rest soon.

"What time is it?" I asked. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her sweats and its light illuminates on her face for a second before she locks it. "It's almost 3am." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Do you want some coffee?" She asks. "What for?" I raised an eyebrow. "We're not done talking, Britney. Seriously, did you think we're fine after one little conversation?"

My shoulders drop in disappointment but I go with it none the less. "Whatever. It's not like this would be the first time we've pulled an all-nighter talking." I elbow her lightly as we walk out of the garage to the apartment. We come back to the front of the building and this time walk through the reception and take the elevator up to her floor. "I'm going to rent my own place after tomorrow. Start from scratch." I told her as we walked inside her apartment. She shuts the door quietly and we both walk into her kitchen after she turned on the light. "Do you really think that's a good idea? How much money can you offer?" She asked. Rachel turns on her pre-set coffee machine before she turns around to my view. "I think I have about 25 or 30 grand before I'm officially broke." Her jaw drops in surprise. "Didn't you have over 100 last year?" I thought about it for a few seconds before giving her a sheepish look. I had lied about that. At one point I actually had a quarter of a million dollars in my account. And overtime more than half of that money went into a very...ilegal investment. If I did have that money I would have used to pay off my debt last year.

Do you see what happens when you lie? Nothing makes sense and everything falls apart.

"I used. A lot. In this last month." I broke up my sentence, feeling pressured and judged. Because it's coming from Rachel I don't feel undermined or embarrassed. I know she'd always have a good reason for feeling the ways she feels, and I can see where it would apply to this situation. She shook her head in disapproval. "Do you want me to transfer some cash into your account in a few weeks if you run out?" She suggests. She's done this once or twice before, I would only allow her to give me a few grand, and that would only be when I was in desperate need for money. I'm talking desperate. The most she's given me at one time would be 3 grand. I'm sure if I rounded up all she's given me I would be able to buy a fucking house.

She's actually quite a successful fashion designer. Her business is national; every now and then I would hear the name of her company being mentioned occasionally. We're both amazed at how different our interests are and how somehow her career is better than mine was. Rachel took a business course in the same college; we actually managed to get each other as dorm mates. We would sneak out past hours and go to clubs, or bars with other friends. Of course Rachel was more responsible than I ever was. She took her classes seriously, most of the time I'd either be too depressed to set foot out of our room, and other times I honestly didn't care. I'm not too surprised she's become successful. She's worked hard to get where she is today, and I can't strip her of all the money she has earned. That just wouldn't be right.