Page 63 of Petite Fleur

Well, that is until I sit up, and an indescribable wave of nausea rolls over me, and my mouth feels flooded with moisture.

Drinking is gross, or maybe I just drank too much.

I remember last night in far too great detail, which is surprising. I thought you were supposed to forget nights like last night, but I couldn't be that lucky.

I got way too drunk on free tequila, told Shelby about my deepest secret sexual fantasy, got humiliated by my own friend group,got a ride home with Leon, and proceeded to pass out while he tried to make me drink water.

Fantastic.

I hope Carlie was even drunker than I was and somehow forgot our little argument at the bar. I can't afford to live anywhere else, and besides, we've been friends our entire lives. Are we really going to throw everything away over a silly fight?

When I finally make it downstairs, the first thing I spot is the disaster in the kitchen.

Carlie is making breakfast, frying eggs, and toasting bread on my pans, which have never touched gluten or animal products. I will now have to scrub them so thoroughly that I can't promise they'll still be useful.

She glares at me when I walk down the steps, making a show of flipping her bread with her bare fingers before walking over and opening the fridge door.

So now I can't even open the fridge without disinfecting that either.

I guess I understand that she's mad, but to purposely contaminate the home that I also live in is sickening. She knows how dangerous it is for me if I touch or ingest any gluten, yet she's touching almost every single surface in the kitchen.

I don't feel like I know the girl I'm looking at anymore. Carlie is a stranger to me right now, and I can't even stand to be here.

I rush upstairs and get dressed, locking my bedroom afterward.

I don't trust her not to contaminate my living space anymore.

I'm also making a mental note to throw my toothbrush away. Who knows just how low she'd stoop, and I'd rather not find out, either.

Luckily, the dining hall is open; I need coffee.

I need to study.

Finals are coming up in a few days, and I feel just as unprepared as I was at the start of the week.

My mind has been so clouded by everything going on with Shelby, Professor Turner, these apparent assaults that are terrorizing campus, and finals. It's gotten me so distracted that now I feel lost.

Luckily, it is a cooler morning as I walk to the dining hall.

Or maybe it's because I skipped my usual attire and settled on cotton shorts and a t-shirt with flip-flops.

I'm far too hungover to dress nicely. I need some coffee and something greasy to make me feel better.

That'll do the trick; at least, that's what all the movies show: a nice fat burger fixing all their problems.

I wonder what the vegan alternative to that is?

I bet it's French fries.

When I walk into the dining hall, the smell immediately hits me and I feel nauseous all over again, but my favorite workers smile and wave at me as if it's been a lifetime since they've seen me.

They're the only thing making my day better.

We make a little small talk, but ultimately, they leave me in peace to study after wishing me a happy birthday and asking what I'd like for a special breakfast.

I shouldn't enjoy being in the dining hall more than being in my own apartment, but even with the chaos of the students, it's more peaceful than my apartment, and the workers seem to care more about me than my own roommates.

Well, former roommates.

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