Page 7 of Fangs for the Memories
I hang up.
It all started out so well. The air was crisp, with a hint there might be snow, and I’d found a couple of vintage clothing stores I wanted to check out. I managed to navigate the tram system and found my first shop, but it was only when I got to the cashier I found my purse had been dipped, and the envelope containing most of my money was gone.
The shop staff commiserated with me, but I could tell they thought I was some stupid tourist with more money than sense.
Except while I might fit into the stupid tourist box, I definitely don’t have the money.
In the end, I made my way back to the hotel, plans ruined, day ruined, life ruined.
I never should have come here.
I might have hung up on my mother and would prefer not to look at my phone again, but the group chat is lit up with messages.
Lydia
Got banged in Budapest yet?
Eliza
You can’t ask that!
Lydia
I can and I have.
Lucy
Banging is the last thing on Grace’s mind I expect.
Kezia
It would be the first thing on my mind. Get yourself a Hungarian hottie, Grace!
She changes the name of the group toGrace’s Hungarian Hottie Search,and I groan.
I just got back to the hotel after doing some shopping, going to have a bit of a nap and then dinner
I decide not to mention the robbery or how broke I am right now. I’m a pity party all on my own. I don’t need their help.
Sophia
Living the dream
Lydia
I’ve heard there are some great ruin pubs which are bursting with the young, single, and ready to mingle...
Clearly this chat is not going to rise above the navel today. I lie on my bed, watching the afternoon turn swiftly into a winter evening and the lights coming on over the bridge as the sun sneaks away, the constant chiming from the chat eventually growing overwhelming.
I put the phone on silent and shove it under my pillow, not wanting to engage anymore. I definitely do not want to speak to my mother for a very long time, if ever. Especially as she thinks what happened with my ex is my fault. She was always more on his side than mine.
But then my life was never something she wanted me to live. All she wanted was me to find a rich husband who could keep her in the manner she wanted. My dad bailed on her years ago, once he realized what she was like, and I don’t blame him in the slightest. At least his passing three years ago means he didn’t witness my humiliation.
I want to get drunk and figure this all out when I emerge from the bottom of a bottle. Not that I can afford to, but I stopped giving any more shits the moment I was pickpocketed.
As I step out of the elevator into the bar area, I’m aware there are a few more people around than the previous night, but I’m not here for company. I’m here to get bladdered.
Because genuinely things could not get any worse.
