Page 44 of The Pinkie Pact

"I want him to break up with Christina," she mumbled into her pillow.

"You do? Why?"

"Because I think he should be with you."

I bolted upright in bed, trying not to choke on my water. "What the fuck? Are you serious right now?"

But she was already out and didn't answer me.

My mind whirled and the room spun, but in opposite directions, as I lay back down on the bed. Between that and what Kara had just said, I thought I might be sick.

Talk It Out

Sky

An annoying buzzing burst into my dreams, making my head explode in pain. What the hell was that?

Oh, crap. I remembered it was Saturday morning. I'd set my alarm to go off weekly so I wouldn't forget. And even though I felt beyond awful, I didn't want to miss even one week. So I managed to get myself out of bed, stifling a groan at the pain in my head.

Water. Ibuprofen. Now.

I didn't have time to shower, so I just brushed my teeth, hoping that I didn't reek too much of alcohol. Glancing in the mirror as I rinsed, I noticed I looked like hell. I wiped off the smeared eye makeup gathered under my eyes and ran a quick hand through my hair.

Oh, well, it's not like I was trying to impress anyone with how wonderful I looked. They just needed extra hands, and I was more than willing to help, even in my condition.

I rushed out of the bathroom, sparing a peek at Kara who was invisible under her comforter. Deciding to let her sleep in—after all, I had been the one to suggest abandoning our pact last night—I headed out the door for the quick walk to the church.

The fresh air helped wake me up as well as the burst of exercise. This early on a Saturday morning, I didn't spot a soul, not even a lone girl doing the "walk of shame," although I realized I probably looked like I was doing just that... as I had done quite a few times before.

We needed a new name for it for sure. Did dudes call it that? It was definitely unfair.

As I approached the church, I saw a line of people outside waiting for the doors to open. I went in the side entrance, and Delia threw her hands in the air when she spotted me.

"Oh, thank God. Seems like we're always short-handed."

She put me on the pancake griddle again, and I was super relieved to be back at it. This time, there was no learning curve, and I whipped out pancake after pancake, perfectly cooked on both sides.

After a while, the late night and queasiness started to catch up to me, and my legs began to quiver from so much standing. I couldn't wait to get back home and crash again. I just wanted to sleep away the rest of the day.

But I kept at it. Because it was my own damn fault, right? And what was a little discomfort compared to what some of these people were going through? So as bowl after bowl of batter was put down beside me, I carried on. Whenever I faltered, I thought of my warm, comfortable bed waiting for me.

And soon enough, we were done. The clean-up was a breeze, working with all these experts who knew to keep things neat as they went.

Before I left, I hit the bathroom and on my way out caught a glimpse of several men leaving, one wearing an Army hat and missing an arm, another in a rickety wheelchair and military hat.

As I exited the church, I fought the tears. How wrong was it for a veteran to be hungry and in need of food? It made me furious. All the events of the last several days converged into one big, hot emotional volcano that threatened to erupt right here.

Fortunately, the streets were quiet this early on a Saturday morning, and I made it home easily, crashing into bed, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Many hours later, Kara and I both finally stirred, my stomach growling loud enough to wake the dead.

Kara groaned as she sat up in bed. "Ugh, I'd forgotten what a hangover felt like."

I stood up to grab her a bottle of water and a pain reliever. "Here you go."

She shot me a grateful look. "Thank you," she said, her voice raspy.

"It's my fault for going rogue."

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