"So do you just not talk to any of your old friends anymore?"
The question catches her off guard, fingers wrapping tighter around the wrench in her hand. “Most of them weren’t real friends. Party friends, people you drink with, maybe you’ve crashed on a couch together but they’re not… Nothing that I’d call a friend.”
“Allen slipped out around the time Cody must have gotten taken. I heard nothing for… God, months. Checked hospitals, rehabs, thought maybe he got some help.” Tongue runs along her teeth, tapping the metal against her leg. An off handed gesture, she should probably learn to talk a little less with her hands, especially when she’s angry. “An’ then do you want to know what he fucking does? He fucking texts me. He fucking texts me that his roots are showing- like I’ve seen him last week not over six months ago!” Her usual fast talking lit becomes more enunciated, before the wrench is tossed as the impromptu weapon it was turned into onto the table. “I haven’t seen him since. If he wants to pull the disappearing act on me again, then fuck him. Fuck him you know.”
She grabs a corona from the fridge and leaves one for him, popping her top off on the table before sitting down, whatever work was in the way is on a hold. Grease covered hands are wiped on the hem of a stained tanktop before she continues. “Cody… you know about him. Got sent to jail-” the rest is left lingering in the air, the who of that stings and the corona doesn’t feel strong enough now, maybe she should have gone for one of the bottles in her office. “I ran into Cody and we talked…. I’m not against talking to him again. But- he thinks it’s a… safety thing.
