Page 2 of Pain and Possession

Jerking open one of my two very spacious cabinets and grabbing a cup of microwave noodles. It may be the end of the world, but I'm not drinking on an empty stomach. I hear Laney open the door, using her key as I pull the steaming noodles from the microwave.

"Yeah, don't knock, that's cool."

Her shoulder length platinum blonde hair is straightened to perfection as always, the tiny red two-piece dress she's wearing certainly screamsthe end of the world.

"That's your apocalypse outfit Lane, seriously?"

She smirks, giving a slow spin before giggling, "Don't worry, we'll make you hot too before we leave."I glance down at my work clothes, probably smelling like a French fry.

"Does it really matter? I mean, honestly?" I ask before hopping up on the counter, shoving a fork full of scalding noodles into my mouth.

"If Heaven is real, do you really want to show up in mom jeans?"

I just shrug, stuffing my face at an unreasonable speed before heading to the bathroom.

"I'm not shaving!" I yell back to her as she rummages through my pitiful closet, probably trying to find the smallest article I own.

"For fuck's sake Olive, if I have to come in there and shave you myself I will! Best friends do not let their friends die as virgins."

That's what this is about.

I turn on the water all the way to hot, knowing that's the only way I'll get a lukewarm shower. Quickly shedding my work clothes, I can't help the twinge of pain in my chest, knowing I'll never put them on again.I've worked at Costa's since I was nineteen. Frank and May gave me a job when nobody else would. Let me stay in their apartment above the restaurant when they found out I had been living at a shelter for the past two years. Aside from Lane, they're the closest thing to a family I have.

The bell chimes as I walk into the small, aged restaurant, letting my hands trail across the frayed edges of the red and white checkered tablecloths. I can't help the nostalgic feeling that comes from knowing I'll never see this place again. Never carry a hot pizza plate to a group of kids, never be yelled at by an old lady because the temperature of her drink was off by half a degree.

"My sweet girl!" May cries as her short, plump frame flies from the kitchen. The tears in her eyes make my heart clench uncomfortably in my chest.

Don't fucking cry, Olive. It won't change anything.

I bury my face in her hair, her warm arms comforting me in a way only a mom can. Not that I have much experience in that department. My parents were out of the picture before I could walk. Victims of the violent mafia ran streets of New York. The same kind of rich assholes that I'm sure are aboard their fancy jets halfway to wherever they think will be far enough to survive this. I take no small amount of pleasure knowing at least some of them stayed, that they'll die in the blast like the rest of us. Or in the fallout after.

"Don't scare her, May." Frank's colossal frame emerges from the kitchen, a plate of my favorite pizza in his hand.

"Sit, sit child, I doubt we'll have too much traffic today."

I shower and shave quickly, only nicking myself twice with the old razor I'll never have to use again. Pulling my thoughts somewhere else, anywhere else. Getting emotional now won't do me any good.As I expected, Laney has an outfit and shoes laid out for me already. I won't argue if she wants to dress me up fine. It doesn't matter to me either way, not today. She's sitting on my bed scrolling through her phone. The somber look on my best friend's face only adds to the heaviness in the air.

"How much longer?" I ask as I pull the deep plum colored long sleeved crop top on. She's paired it with a skintight high wasted leather skirt she left here a few weeks ago when she and Jackson broke up for the fifteenth time.I try to ignore the way my wide hips makes the fabric strain as I work it up over my thighs.

"Please tell me you haven't been watching that god awful countdown."

I just shrug. She knows I have.

How could you not?

She makes quick work brushing through my wavy brunette hair, letting it fall just a little past my shoulders.The back is still slightly shorter than the front from when she tried to trim it for me. We're on a time constraint, so I opt for a light winged liner and some blush.

Before I know it, we're navigating our way through the chaotic streets. People are breaking into shops and setting off fireworks. Groups of people turning the normally cab filled roads into desperation fueled block parties.I clutch onto Lane's arm, dragging her further down the road when she stops to gawk at a couple fucking on a public bench. I nearly slam her through the door of the bar as she catcalls them. Instructing the man to and I quoteget in there, daddy.She's laughing hysterically at me and my flamed cheeks as we walk further into the musty bar. The dated walls are painted a deep red, the floor unfinished concrete decorated sparsely in old rich colored paintings that look out of place.

Fancy.

"Lucky you ladies made it when you did. We were just about to lock the doors." The bartender remarks, leaning casually against the bar, his eyes glued to Lane, "Glad you made it, Holly."

Holly, of course he's a client of hers.

"I'm not one to turn down free alcohol, and it's the end of the world after all. Call me Laney."

I watch their interaction closely, the way her eyes heat on command. How easily she can turn it on, make someone feel like they are the only person in the room.Her official job description is a VIP dancer, but she's never hid what that means from me. One of the many reasons I can't stand Jackson, the slimy fuck all but forced her into the job. She's definitely ran with it though. As long as she was safe and happy, I was in no place to judge. She gets enough of that from her parents.Skipping out on caviar and ivy league schools for living on the streets andentertainingmen for money.She always says that we should host a podcast together, which she aptly namedAdventures of the Sex Worker and the Virgin.

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