Chapter 3 : on the art of being wholly guilty
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I sigh and mentally slap myself. Slap. Slap. Slap.
“YOU ARE THE WORST PERSON! EVER! I'M NEVER GOING TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN!”
From the sounds of it, Dee is currently sobbing slash yelling slash mentally killing me, in a hotel room somewhere on her honeymoon. Tom, her new husband, can't be heard, but I will bet any amount of money that he's trying to calm her down, and is instead dodging shoes.
“WHEN I GET BACK, YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET THIS!”
“D, I already regret it! I passed out, for Merlin's sake!”
Oops. Not supposed to say that, in front of a Muggle. Merlin's sake indeed.
“Passed out?” she seems to calm down a bit, so she isn't damaging my extremely fragile eardrums.
Oops. I'm not supposed to mention that bit, either.
“Yeah, um... I went out last night...”
I brace myself for an onslaught of hurtful screaming.
There is a click, and the line goes dead.
I throw it at the wall, and it falls to the tiled floor with a thud.
“Well,” I say, for my own benefit, “that went well.”
Then I stare at the wall, on which hangs a most depressing sketch – probably the most depressing sketch I've ever drawn – that I did ten minutes ago. It's the image of a monster, dark and scary and horrific, with gnashing teeth, blood dripping and wild eyes.
“Don't drink,” I tell it. “You'll just get a bad reputation and a headache.”
It stares back, not answering. I don't expect it to. Seeing as it's not magical and all.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings.
Shit. I'm not expecting anyone. I trudge over to the window, a sneak a peak through the curtains. It's Josh.
Shit. I'm still wearing that stupid cocktail dress.
I hide inside the food cupboard, hoping that I've locked the front door and that Josh has miraculously forgotten his key to my apartment.
“Molly?” Josh's voice calls. “Molly! You can come out, because I know you're in here and you have explaining to do!”
I stay right where I am. Maybe he'll think I left the front door open and went shopping?
“Molly! I was just talking to Delilah! She said you were here!”
I come out of the cupboard and wander into the front hallway sheepishly.
“Hi,” I say, bracing for my second helping of tellings-off.
“What the fuck?” is his reply to my particularly polite greeting.
“Oh. Dress. Right,” I realise. His face is becoming a couple of shades redder. I think mine is too.
“How could you do that, Molly? How could you? She was so worried for you, thought you'd been in a car accident or had a heart attack, or something, and then you ring her up and tell her that the reason you didn't show up to her wedding was that you had a hangover! A hangover! Because you went 'out' last night, even when we'd agreed that you weren't going to go partying with that Dustee chick any more!”
He takes a look at my possibly ashen face, and I can see that he knows he's right.
“Josh...” I stumble for a reason, anything.
He walks out the door.
Yikes, I don't know how I think of these things...
Well, I don't know about anybody else, but I'm feeling really sorry for Molly.
Anyway, I want some feedback. I know that makes me sound like a petulant child (although, technically, I am a child), but guys! I love reviews. It's my... they're my craving.
Please review! I need some advice on characterisations, and the whole flow sequence!
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