Frankie didn’t stay late with me last night, just long enough for me to eat half a plate of food and then take it away when I didn’t want anymore. Then he left me to stew, which is what I really wanted anyway. I had laid in bed, determined to be miserable about it for hours, but to my surprise I fell asleep pretty early.
I guess putting all that makeup on Frankie really took it out of me.
When I wake up the next day, I’m anxious as hell about my new job. In the clear light of morning, I realize that I was a complete i***t for taking it just to piss Christian off. Honestly, what the hell was I thinking?
And is there any way out of it now?
Or…I mean, do I want out of it?
I scowl at myself as I pull myself out of bed, because apparently my destructive streak runs deeper than I thought it
