Rhea's POV:
Fired. Fired.
Yup, you heard me right. Fired with immediate effect. Just like that. As if I'm some disposable piece of furniture that can be tossed out the door when it's no longer "needed." And the kicker? Mr. Cortez—that walking, talking wallet full of arrogance and entitlement—was the one who pulled the trigger.
What the hell is a girl like me supposed to do now?
I was this close to losing my mind. I stood there, staring at my phone in disbelief as my manager's words echoed in my head: "You're fired." The rest of the conversation was just background noise. I didn't even hear the rest of what he said. "Harassment"? Really? I harassed him? I tried not to punch a hole through the library desk. Seriously. If I had it in me to do anything but seethe, I'd have been planning how to sue the bastard for slander. But that would involve a level of organization, focus and lots of money I was definitely not in the mood for right now and didn't have.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, feeling a lump form in my throat. I had no idea what I was going to do now. I couldn't even afford to lose my job. How was I supposed to pay rent next month? How was I supposed to keep everything afloat?
I stood there for a long while in the middle of the library, soaking wet and completely defeated, trying to gather the strength to move. Eventually, I pulled myself together, barely, enough to leave. I picked up my soggy novel off the counter, the one Mr. Cortez had so kindly drenched in water. My heart sank as I stared at the pages, now warped and barely readable. It had been one of those books that you didn't want to end. The kind you lived for. The kind you read over and over, hoping to catch something new each time. But now? It was ruined. The ink was smudged. The pages curled.
I stuffed the novel into my bag with a sigh, trying not to think about how it had been destroyed, the one thing that had been keeping me sane through everything. If only I could have stayed in the story, in that perfect, chaotic world, far from this real-life mess.
I walked out of the library, my feet dragging, my thoughts swirling like a storm inside my head. I didn't even have the energy to go anywhere else. I just wanted to go home.
I passed the Supermart on my way home, its fluorescent lights bright and mocking against the backdrop of my misery. The rows of snacks on the shelves seemed to taunt me. Potato chips, candy, sugary cereal—things that were supposed to comfort you when life was hard.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the shelves, wondering if I should grab something. A snack to make myself feel better. But what was the point? Everything seemed hollow. I couldn't afford to indulge in junk food right now anyway. I had bills to pay. I had rent to worry about. A snack wasn't going to fix my life, or the mess that had just unfolded in front of me.
But what the hell? Maybe a box of cookies could numb the sting for a minute. Yeah, cookies would do nothing except make me feel even worse, but damn it, at least they wouldn't judge me. I grabbed a box and walked to the register, feeling my temper simmer.
And then, after I made my "luxurious" snack purchase (I'm talking a cheap pack of chocolate cookies), I trudged home, my feet dragging with every step.
When I got home, the door was already ajar. I had to push it the rest of the way open with my shoulder, sighing when I saw the familiar sight of Lucy's things scattered everywhere—clothes on the couch, half-empty coffee cups on the counter. It was like a tornado had gone through here.
I sighed again, louder this time, and stepped inside. "Lucy?" I called, but there was no answer.
I closed the door behind me and tossed my bag on the couch. The place smelled faintly of stale pizza and desperation—two things that Lucy and I knew all too well. I looked around, and that familiar feeling of exhaustion settled over me. I didn't even know why I still bothered sometimes.
Lucy, my best friend, my broke roommate, had been in a financial crisis for months now. I knew it wasn't her fault, but I was exhausted from carrying both of us. The rent, the bills, the groceries, everything. I had been the one supporting us. My job at the library had barely been enough, but I managed.
Until today.
The weight of my job loss settled in, and I finally felt the tears start to sting at the corners of my eyes. But before I could even let myself break down, I heard the familiar sound of Lucy's soft voice calling from the back of the apartment.
"Rhea? Is that you?"
I wiped my eyes quickly, took a deep breath, and walked toward her room. Lucy had always been a little eccentric. She was an artist, and her room was always a cluttered mess of canvases, paint tubes, and half-finished projects. She had been trying to build her career as a freelance designer, but with the way things were going, it seemed like her dreams were slipping further and further out of reach.
She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her messy hair pulled up in a bun, wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts. She looked up at me with wide, concerned eyes.
"Hey, what's wrong? You look... off."
I could feel her eyes scanning me, probably noticing the wet clothes and the way I was slumping like a deflated balloon. She knew something was wrong, but I didn't know how to tell her. She had her own mess to deal with.
"I—" I hesitated, trying to find the words. "I lost my job today."
Her eyes widened, and she blinked a few times as though she hadn't quite processed what I said. Then, her face softened, and she slowly stood up, walking over to me with a gentle expression.
"You what?" she asked, her voice full of disbelief.
"I'm fired, Lucy. Just like that," I said, shaking my head in frustration. "That jerk, Mr. Cortez, he—ugh. It doesn't matter. The point is, I lost my job, and now I don't know how we're going to make it."
I sat down on the couch, the weight of everything finally starting to settle in. It was like I could finally admit to myself how badly everything had gone.
Lucy's eyes flickered with sympathy, but she didn't say anything at first. Instead, she sat next to me and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry, Rhea. I had no idea it had gotten that bad." Her voice cracked as she spoke, and I could feel the sincerity in her words. She might have been struggling too, but she always cared about me. She always tried her best, even if she didn't always know how to help.
"It's not your fault. You're already going through so much," I whispered, feeling the weight of my own tears threatening to spill over. "I just... I don't know what to do anymore. I've been trying so hard. I thought we could make it, but now—now I don't even have the energy to keep fighting."
Lucy was quiet for a long time, and I almost thought she had nothing else to say. But then, she squeezed my hand.
"Hey, listen to me. You are fighting. You've been fighting for both of us. I don't know how we're going to get through this, but I do know one thing. You're not alone. We'll figure something out."
I looked at her, blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall. Her eyes were full of determination, and for the first time that day, I felt a small flicker of hope.
"We're in this together," she added, squeezing my hand tighter.
And for the first time, I believed her.