GREY CLOUDS SWIRL OVERHEAD, mirroring the misery in my heart.
Is that dramatic?
I don't know anymore.
It's all blurring together inside me. What's an overreaction? What's a valid red flag?
I debate calling Doc and then decide not to. It's hard to pinpoint these conflicting emotions. How do I expect him to pick up the threads when they're all tangled together anyway? I'm the only one who can untangle them and follow it to the end.
My fingers curl around the cash register. Thunder booms in the distance, warning that the storm is fast approaching.
Customers smile. Chatter.
Coffee pours like beer in a keg party.
I'm so removed from this moment that my surroundings have faded.
Almost as if someone made the world around me transparent.
My argument with Jerrison plays on a loop in my mind. I want to blame him.
Sometimes, I want to blame myself.
