Episode 4

“Hello? Lucy? Ah, there you are. Is there a reason you’re talking to yourself?” Olive asked as she appeared at the end of the hall where I was dumping a trash bag filled with Jameson’s clothes. I straightened up and let out a deep breath as I took in her appearance. The yoga pants and baggy white shirt she was wearing were practically her uniform when she didn’t want to think about what to wear. And baggy or not her b00bs still managed to look good. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head and looked like it had seen much cleaner days. My guess was she had come straight from her writing cave.

“No reason at all. Just entertaining myself,” I answered, clearing the invisible sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “What are you doing here this early? I thought you were coming around later. And is there a reason why you look like you haven’t showered in a week?”

She was in the process of looking through the trash bags I had lined up against the wall that contained the clothes Jameson had chosen to leave behind. At my question, Olive’s head snapped up and her lips spread into a wide grin.

“Not a week, but maybe two days? I only have a few chapters to write then it’s officially The End for the story.” She shrugged and went back to her rummaging, looking for God knew what. “Who has time to shower anyway?”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered her anyway—under my breath of course. “People who like to be clean instead of smelly like you maybe?”

“And to answer your ungrateful question,” she continued. “I came early because I’m the best friend anyone could have. Why do we have to go through his clothes? Why didn’t the bastard take them with him?”

“We aren’t going through his clothes, you are. I’ve already gone through them. I’m just gonna leave them outside. Jameson texted to say his friend was coming over to take care of them. I don’t care either way.”

“Or we could burn them to make a statement.” She kicked one of the bags toward the door and reached out to lift up my small, bright yellow weekend bag.

“And what statement would that be exactly?”

“I don’t know…to show him that we are a united front against him? And it would be therapeutic for you, too.”

“Right. How about we stick to moving me out of here as quickly as possible instead.”

She shrugged and grabbed the bag I was holding out to her. “By the way, I’m pretty sure Jason would’ve said something if I smelled. And look who’s talking—you look like death warmed up. Your beautiful blue eyes are practically dead. Even your dark hair somehow looks…darker.”

I clasped my hands over my heart and batted my lashes. “Aww, thanks, my little green Olive. You look lovely too, with your greasy hair and sleepy eyes. Combined, it all does wonders for your complexion.”