Page 39 of Fighting for You
The ride back to my house was quiet. I held on to him tightly, and he covered my hands with his large palm, running his thumb across the back of my wrist the entire way.
The small touches calmed my entire system, and I was left with a sense of loss when I had to extract myself from the back of the bike.
He waited until I had my door open and with a quick, “See you around, Freckles,” he took off, his bike kicking up gravel in my driveway.
Having showered the minute I got inside, I’m finally feeling less hungover. I have all of my supplies out to meal prep for the next few days since I’ll be working without another day off for a while when my phone dings with a text message. And then dings again. And again. I look over at the screen and see I’ve been added to a group chat with Thea and Ripley.
12/13 2:04 p.m.
Thea: Margot! Are you alive?
12/13 2:04 p.m.
Ripley: OMG, please no. It’s too early.
12/13 2:05 p.m.
Thea: It’s 2 p.m. Stop pretending to sleep and get out here already so we can go get some coffee. Margot, join us!
12/13 2:05 p.m.
Ripley: NO, devil woman. Let me rot.
12/13 2:05 p.m.
Ripley: But if you’re going, I’ll take my usual. **angel emoji**
Ripley named the conversation “Pour Decisions”.
12/13 2:06 p.m.
Ripley: Margie! Are you alive? Did Brooks take care of you?
12/13 2:06 p.m.
Ripley: Oh shit, no, I hope he didn’t “take care of you” take care of you.
12/13 2:07 p.m.
Thea: I will kill him.
12/13 2:08 p.m.
Me: Hi! I’m fine, guys. Had a rough morning, but I’m fine. Finally feeling better. Y’all go too hard for me.
Read2:08 p.m.
12/13 2:08 p.m.
Ripley: Ugh, we go too hard for ourselves. No. More. Tequila.
12/13 2:09 p.m.
Thea: It was your idea!
12/13 2:09 p.m.
Ripley: Stop listening to me. I’m full of bad ideas.
