Page 7 of Exposé

A powder?

A pill?

Something natural?

I finished jotting down my questions, rubbed my dry eyes, and pulled onto the road.

What was I supposed to do with this information?

Was there even a story here?

Stepping into my quaint studio, I dropped my laptop bag on the plush gray couch to the right and twisted the lock as the doorsnickedshut.

Home sweet home.

The familiar scent of leftover liquid breakfast hung in the air as I refilled my coffee pot, my never-used pan sitting on the stove to my left next to the side of my refrigerator.

My knees wobbled as the slight adrenaline faded away.

Lobbing my keys into the bowl of artificial fruit perched in the center of my diminutive two-seater table, I kicked my shoes onto the rack beside it before stumbling a mere couple of steps and plummeting face-first onto my bed.

2

Ava

Harsh light burned through the uncovered windows, searing my overtired retinas. The coffee maker gurgled and hissed as it fed water through the pump and dribbled through the filter filled with Folgers coffee grounds, fresh from the supermarket last week.

I lifted my head and groaned, my belly pressed into the mattress as my long, dark brown bangs fell into my face.

It's morning already?

Rolling off of the bed, I rubbed my weary eyes, my clothes stiff and scratchy against my dingy skin.

Morning?

My feet hit the floor as I glanced at the clock.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I dashed across the small studio, tossing open drawers and cabinets, finding something decent to wear. Smelling one, I threw it over my shoulder and picked another—a pristinequarter-sleeve, button-up blouse in pure white paired with snug dark, navy-blue jeans, the hems tight around my ankles.

With lightning speed, I whisked my fingers through my hair, filled a travel mug with dark, steaming coffee, and bolted out the front door. My scraping high heels echoed against the rugged cement stairs as I hurried to my car, my bag slipping from my shoulders in the frenzy.

Whitney's going to kill me.

Traffic thinned out later in the morning, the freeway stretch clearing enough to make it downtown in twenty minutes. I pulled into a spot, killed the engine, and hurried inside.

I dropped into my computer chair at my desk, my coffee sloshing inside my mug as I set my things down.

Leaning forward, I sipped my coffee, the bitterness weighing heavy on my tongue.

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Aria Jenkins leaned against my cubicle wall with a smile on her plum-colored lips.

Air puffed out of my nose as I gave her a subtle shake of my head. "You wouldn't believe the night I had."

"Oh yeah? New crime drama series out?" She tapped her finger to her chin. "Oh, I know." Aria snapped her fingers. "Did they bring back French Toast Pop-Tarts?"

Is my life that underdeveloped?

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