==> Be Lis-- What the fuck
You look like crap. You feel like crap. And you hate absolutely every fucking thing about existing in this exact fucking moment.
You’re a mess and you know it. You lost your glasses somewhere in your office but in retrospect to all the blood that followed, you suppose it’s a minor fault. But fuck, you hurt. You’re not sure where one pain ends and another begins. Every step forward makes some-many-things shift uncomfortably and you’re damn sure it’s too many broken ribs. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.
Things had gone from bad to ugly to near fatal all too quick when you decided to lip off to that amateur model. Go figure, a seadweller blind with rage could throw you across the room without flinching. Your psionics? Nowhere in sight. Because he had his fucking null parked around the corner. You were doctored up by his agent, given the most fucking amazing fuck you t-shirt known to troll kind and here’s your fucking walk of shame back hive, feeling yourself bleed through the bandages and just wishing you’d roll an ankle and bounce your teeth off the curb. But if a seadweller could use your face as a punching bag, you doubt pavement could do much worse.
But it’s fine. This? Is fine. You’ll get hive, you can collapse into the shower, try to rewrap yourself and... And doctor what you can of the bruises with some foundation before Serres pops in. If she pops in. Maybe she’ll be conveniently busy today. Maybe you should text her to be conveniently busy today--
If you had your mobile that you left conveniently in your pants at work.
Did you mention you fucking hate tonight? Because you fucking. Hate. Tonight.
