Treadmill

XVI.I

I never understood the expression 'shit hit the fan' before. Maybe it was because I didn't make it a habit to curse all that much, or because I had never led a particularly dramatic life, or maybe it was a combination of both of those things. But in my sophomore year of college, I started to understand that expression all too well. Actually...way too well. Is that grammatically correct?

Doesn't matter.

By now, you're probably starting to wonder about this entire ordeal. Who was the werewolf? Was he actually trying to figure things out about us or were we just paranoid? Was Kennedy bugging my stuff? If so, why was she bugging my stuff? And is anything going to come of you guys literally killing a man?

The answers to all of your questions are quickly coming, I promise. They're also the answers that I want to make the most clear throughout this entire thing, since it's kind of the reason I'm writing this in the first place. Not that it matters. You're still reading, aren't you?

Just to clarify, the fake influencer account was starting to put Kennedy and my heads in the clouds. We were sure that we were never going to get caught, that we were going to be able to continue running this account and accepting ad campaigns and making more money than we ever thought we would have during our times at college. I was ready to quit my job at the grocery store completely. The only thing keeping me there was a strange loyalty to the people who worked with me. I didn't want to leave them one employee short with the holidays approaching.

But I didn't need the money anymore. For the first time in my life, I didn't need the money from an almost-full-time job.

In November, once our income increased even more due to a high-profile ad campaign that didn't even require too many pictures posted with the product, that loyalty to the people I worked with started to become a bit more nonexistent.

In November, we also discovered that we had overlooked a few important things that not only make a fake influencer Instagram account seem real, but make that same fake influencer seem real.

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"I need you to come over."

Rebecca was wary about going anywhere near Kennedy since she believed she had discovered the other girl bugging her laptop. But it had been six days, and she was pretty sure she couldn't avoid Kennedy much longer without appearing suspicious.

"Why?" Rebecca asked, balancing her phone on her shoulder as she tried to beat two eggs in a bowl before transferring it to the pan sitting on top of the stove. "It's like nine o'clock in the morning. I'm surprised you're even awake."

"I have Google alerts set up for Drew Parley, you moron." Kennedy snapped. "This one woke me right up."

Rebecca's heart started to beat a bit faster as she sprinkled spinach, mushrooms, and feta cheese on the egg before flipping it in half to make an omelette.

"There was a news article about Drew?"

Kennedy sighed loudly.

"Yes. Now get over here so we can be panicked together."

Rebecca waited. She could practically hear Kennedy rolling her eyes.

"Please."

"I like the manners." Rebecca replied, transferring her omelette to a plate and starting to eat it quickly, "I'll head over in five."

She hung up before Kennedy could complain and finished her breakfast quickly. It was a big day for her. It was her first Saturday where she didn't have to go to the grocery store. She had quit two days earlier, opening herself up to 38 extra hours of free time every week.