You stop listening to that little voice in your head because it keeps telling you to do things that get you into trouble. After a while, you can’t hear that little voice at all.
But the day after my dream, that little voice came back and told me to flush those pills down the toilet. So, I listened.
Because I have to, all I have in this life is me, and if I can’ttrust myself, then who do I have?
Nobody.
I don’t want to be medicated into something I’m not. I want to be me. I want to feel alive. I wasn’t put on this earth to conform—I was put here to find my own way.
And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Right after I take a two-hour nap, because even rebellion needs rest.
Torren
The Mayor’s Mansion is even more ridiculous than I could have imagined. Security ordered us to enter through the back because God forbid the help might enter through the front entrance. As I pass the staircase leading to the second floor, I notice Mayor Hargrove’s paintings and almost bust a gut.
They look almost ironic, like something you’d see in a sitcom. We all convene in the kitchen, and the event lead grills us on how to behave around rich people, as if we’re neanderthals who might sniff their asses if not told otherwise.
The door to the ballroom is open, and I look up at the massive chandelier, painting the room with a warm glow. Everything is gold, and I meaneverything.
It’s funny to see the opulence of Felix’s actual life.
“You ever worked one of these before?” one of the other servers whispers.
I look him up and down, surveying his body language, ensuring he’s not a threat. He’s not. Just another guy here to make a buck. “I’ve worked events like this before, but never one here,” I reply casually.
“Well, get ready for a fuckin’ show. This is my third timeat the Mayor’s Mansion. Hargrove always makes a grand entrance, and the guests are the absolute worst. The only one who was ever polite was the Mayor’s wife, and she offed herself earlier this summer. Poor, lady. She must have been miserable.”
I should have been more understanding with Felix when he was pestering me. I’d read his mom died, but I didn’t think about that—too busy being a selfish prick. I lift the tray of caviar waffle bites and casually ask, “Hargrove’s got a son, right? Does he ever come to these things?”
“Yeah, but he’s usually pretty quiet and tends to sneak out as soon as the Mayor’s big reveal is finished—never really chatted with him before.” The event lead finishes his spiel, and we exit the kitchen together, each one of us holding a tray. “I’m Lou,” he says.
“Peter,” I reply.
“I’ll see you around. Don’t drop anything or you’ll never be invited back,” he warns.
“Noted.”
The Mayor’s staff begins ushering guests into the ballroom, and my eyes zero in on how much money these people are wearing. The old me would have robbed these old biddies blind.
Not tonight. Focus.
The event drags on, the little glimmers of conversation I catch making me nauseous.
Felix has yet to make an appearance, and I’m starting to get nervous.
What if he’s sick?
I mentally start thinking of how I might sneak away and search the house, when his face suddenly appears in thedoorway of the ballroom.
The warmth in my chest spreads, fast and unexpected. Like it’s been waiting for this.
That should concern me, but I ignore those thoughts and move toward him on instinct.
He looks better than he has in a while. His eyes, while nervous, are a little more alive than they have been, and the green of his irises is more stunning than ever. He’s wearing a navy blue suit that fits him like a glove, accentuating those long limbs of his. I close the distance between us, navigating the crowd, when someone stops me in my tracks and unloads a barrage of questions about the fucking caviar on my tray.
“Young man, do you chill the plate? Warm porcelain ruins the pearls.”
