"If you ever try that shit again, I'll murder you and hide your body parts in a Ziploc bag."
Sapphire Sanders is almost 18 years old, and she's about to graduate high school. She only lives with her siblings, since her parents are basically non exis...
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Davon was fucking killing me.
He wouldn't stop fucking talking about this Emerald person.
If she was so special, why the hell haven't I met her yet?
Davon had to leave early again today, because he told our boss that he had person problems to deal with.
Personal problems my ass.
He was probably just gonna hook up with ther and show up tomorrow, with another puke inducing smile on his face.
By the time he had left, the place was basically empty, except for a few stubborn bugs who had refused to die even though I sprayed them time after time again with insecticide.
Dumb bugs.
I went into the supply room and got out the cleaning supplies, leaving the lights to the front of the house off.
I was preparing to spray those cockroaches with their daily spray of deadly fluids, when I could've sworn the little bell by the door rang.
That meant someone was inside.
Who even comes to restaurants by this time of the damn night?
The lights were still off, so I couldn't really see the person, but I knew someone was in there.
I huffed, grabbed my supplies, and turned on the lights.
No one was there.
What the fuck?
I turned around, and before I could even die of fear, someone yelled, "BOO!", and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground.
"Thought vampires could see into the future, couldn't they?"an obviously female voice says, extending a hand towards me.
Of course it was her.
I scowled, seeing the smug look on her pretty face, and I took her hand, dusting my pants.
"I ought to get you arrested one of these days." I grumble, grabbing the mop that had fallen with me.
"For what?" She says, smiling that ridiculous smile and following me around. "I just came here for my fries."
"Couldn't you come earlier?" I say, putting my hands on my hips. "Like a normal person?"
"Oh come on, we both know that I'm not normal." She says, and I fought the urge to spontaneously list out the multiple reasons why she wasn't normal.
"True. But I'm mopping right now as you can see," I say, pointing to the unhelpfully dry floor. "So if you could leave? Like now?"
"Fine then." She says, and she plants herself on one of those booths with two seats that faced each other. "But I'm not leaving without my daily bag of cold, leftover fries."
