Outcast
“Have you decided? You’ve been staring at that jar for four minutes now, and made eleven half-hearted grabs at the sweets inside”.
Personality reverted or not, there was still shifts to work at the various jobs she’d picked up over the course of the city experience. One of the less helpful habits she’d relapsed to taking advantage of was the precise detail by which she could feedback to any particular person - something which scared off peers and earned her that awful reputation at school.
And with it, a shortened temper. The girl with plastic bags stuffed with sweets - probably for friends, with the number collected - was doing nothing wrong. And she knew it was bound to backfire acting in this manner, but she couldn’t help it.
Opening up had made things so much easier, but instinct worked against that. “My shift ends in eight more, I’d rather not put up with grief from anyone around here for leaving you standing there”.
