Page 2 of Return to Garoureve

Was it a dream? Was it a premonition? Was it—

“What are you on about? It’s a Monday. I always work Mondays.”

Rubbing at her eyes once more, Violet reached into her pocket for her phone and pulled it out, staring at the date. September 24th. Monday.

One Night before the Full Moon.

“Are you losing track of time? Are you high? Don’t tell me you got into Teddy’s—“

“I don’t do drugs,” she snapped, pushing past Drake to head towards the bathroom. Fuck, it was also late enough in the day, she wouldn’t be able to grab a shower. How had she spent the entire night passed out on the downstairs couch? What was coming over her?

“Bloodshot eyes, passing out in the shop instead of your apartment upstairs, losing track of time? Not normal, Vi.”

Violet took in a deep breath to snap at him, but knew, as she looked in the mirror, he was right. She looked like absolute shit, like Teddy after a bender. Of course, he never touched anything hard these days, but she could remember him in the past. She knew what it looked like when someone was hitting something hard.

“Vi, are you okay? Do you need me to call—“

“I’m fine,” she said honestly as she turned to look at Drake. His concern was written all over his face, and she appreciated it, but it wasn’t needed. “Look, you’ve known me for how many years? And I’ve been refusing anything stronger than tea for how long?”

She couldn’t touch drugs. Couldn’t touch energy drinks. Couldn’t even sip coffee. Anything more than herbal teas, and things would go... Well, she didn’t want to think about it right now.

“You look like shit,” Drake said with a shrug. “I’m just calling it as I see it.”

Which was code for he was just worried about her, little shit that he was.

“I’m going to grab a shower.” Screw it. She could take a little time for herself. “When Berkley gets here, tell him he’s on desk duty until I come back down.”

“I’m not a mail pigeon, sweetheart.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Her shower should have been peaceful. With her signature blend of bergamot, lemon, and chamomile worked into her hair and skin, even the quickest shower should be a restful place. She wanted to lose herself in the feeling of the water on her skin and let herself drain away the stress, but ten minutes in, peace was apparently not possible.

The fist banging on the door to her apartment was definitely not Drake. For as much as he was an asshole, he wouldn’t dare cross into her private space, which meant it had to be Berkley, and if Berkley was willing to interrupt her shower, that meant it had to be an actual emergency, and not something stupid to waste her time.

Grabbing her robe and ignoring her dripping hair, Violet rushed to the door of her flat and tugged it open. As she had already figured out, Berkley was standing on the other side, looking rather perturbed. “The delivery truck for next door blocked the whole fuckin’ entryway, and Drake’s client is pissed. Can you—“

“Oh, fuck off.” Slamming the door in his face, Violet let out a tiny scream of frustration. Not again. She appreciated Mrs. Strous, she did, but the woman was senile at this point, telling her delivery driver he could park wherever he so chose, and therefore using up the entire parking lot. While there was an entrance and an exit to the space, the other side was filled with cars for the coffee shop next door.

Which meant her tiny tattoo shop in the middle was trapped between idiots in need of caffeine and an old lady with her flowers.

Berk was still standing on the other side of the door when she opened it back up again, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for her instructions. “Tell Drake to fuck off and stop picking prissy clients, then ask Mrs. Strous how big her delivery is. If it’s less than five pallets, we can wait, otherwise tell the delivery driver to move his shit.”

The sound of an engine revving could be heard from outside, and she shook her head. Well then. The problem solved itself.

“You can still tell Drake to go fuck himself. I’ll be down in ten.”

Eight minutes later, with her hair still wet but in a tight bun on the top of her head, Violet made her way downstairs. Her shower had ended up too hot to be peaceful after talking to Berk. The good thing about living above her shop was the quick commute, but it also meant she had to remember to put in a little effort when simply heading down into her shop. While she would love to spend the day in her sweats, she did have a certain aesthetic she had to meet, given her job. Her outfit of the day would have to do.

Still, something about the day itself, her little voice of intuition maybe, made her wish she had put in more effort to her appearance than the pair of cutoffs and a black tank top she had snagged out of the laundry basket. She wasn’t even wearing any of her favorite pairs of heels, which made her think that it was no wonder Drake was concerned she was hitting something hard.

It felt strange to walk about at her normal height with no platform underneath her feet.

“You still look like—“

The look Violet cut Drake told him to shut his mouth if he wanted to keep his job. It was only for the sake of Teddy and Berkley she tolerated him most days, and after the night she had endured, today was not one of them.

Between her lack of sleep and the dreams that tormented her, she was sure to have a bad day.

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