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ilikemywayIt's a sore, sleepy Michelle that drags herself out of bed and into her sister's room, banging a fist on the doorframe and directing a glare at the alarm clock that apparently wasn't set last night. She has one arm wrapped around herself, and is angled in the doorway in the hopes that her sister doesn't see last night's black eye or the worst of the bruising where her tank top rides up. But dad is out, and mom is probably not waking up any time soon, and someone has to get her to school, so that'll be Michelle. Again.
"Come on, time to get up," she calls, or at least tries to before the last couple of words dissolve into a yawn.
---
Michelle is really getting sick of fast food.
She's getting sick of a lot of things, up to and including her mother's panicked phone calls and having to punch people in the face to get them to take her seriously, but mostly? She is sick of fast food. But she won't get anything else, because that requires being off the road for longer than she wants to. She's not sleeping as much as she should be either, but she can deal with that.
Hopefully it won't be much longer, anyway.
She pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine, taking a moment before she opens the door to close her eyes and breathe and hope that her sister's here, that it's not another in the trail of dodgy places she's racking up debts on this bender across Florida. Then she checks her gun, opens the door -- ignoring the small avalanche of McDonalds wrappers that fall out -- and heads for the entrance.
"Come on, time to get up," she calls, or at least tries to before the last couple of words dissolve into a yawn.
---
Michelle is really getting sick of fast food.
She's getting sick of a lot of things, up to and including her mother's panicked phone calls and having to punch people in the face to get them to take her seriously, but mostly? She is sick of fast food. But she won't get anything else, because that requires being off the road for longer than she wants to. She's not sleeping as much as she should be either, but she can deal with that.
Hopefully it won't be much longer, anyway.
She pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine, taking a moment before she opens the door to close her eyes and breathe and hope that her sister's here, that it's not another in the trail of dodgy places she's racking up debts on this bender across Florida. Then she checks her gun, opens the door -- ignoring the small avalanche of McDonalds wrappers that fall out -- and heads for the entrance.
