Our Struggle

K is for 'Kind'

I skimmed through the local newspaper, circling a rectangular boxed job advertisement - a waitress at a local bar. Experience required.

Yes, I was actually reading a newspaper. They have a jobs section. Sadly, I now know this.

My ballpoint pen made a scratchy sound, struggling against the thin paper. "Damn it," I muttered as the ink began to wane.

My left ankle rested on the opposite chair - wrapped neatly in a beige bandage. I cringed when the memory of me falling on my butt in front of Asher replayed through my mind.

The dull throbbing pain had stopped as I dosed up on paracetamol and ibuprofen.

It's times like these when being a Paramedic student comes in handy.

Not that I'm actually going to become a paramedic - you have to pass for that to happen. And I had barely been into university.

A few of my classmates had collected the notes for me but I had missed a lot of practical stuff - you know, the stuff that actually saves lives. My professors were understanding, I'd been given time off and if I fail this year, I'm allowed to repeat it.

If I have the money.

A big if. Because I'm absolutely, positively broke. Not that there is anything positive about my situation.

And no, I have no savings - my accounts were joint with Noah. Big freaking mistake because his fancy, pancy lawyers have cut me off.

I've learnt my lesson: never, ever leave your finances to a man. In fact, I've learnt many lessons since the death of my father. Most of them involved not trusting men.

Asher was finishing off a shift at Noah's house - judging by the list of chores he still had to do, it was unlikely he was going to finish by midnight. So thankfully, he'd be gone for a long, long time.

Harper had went to pick up her friend, Skye. They were going out tonight while I had my iron transfusion at the hospital. Fun times.

Well, Harper had never been out. In fact, she almost hated socialising as much as I do. She tried to convince me that I wouldn't manage with my iron transfusion but she needed this night out more that I did her company - yes, I have an intense fear of needles, the thought of being prodded by someone makes me sick (gag) but I couldn't exactly tell Harper to cancel her plans because Skye, her friend from uni, had been planning this for the last few months.

And quite frankly, I was scared of Skye. She was about ten people wrapped in one.

So that meant I was going to my appointment alone, where I'll probably die by some massive needle puncturing the wrong vessel. But as long as Harper gets her night out - which she doesn't even want, I'll be ok. It's whatever.

My phone buzzed against the wooden table, No Caller ID. Usually, I ignore these calls and block the damn number but today, this caller was more persistent.

And gosh, I hated phone calls. Queue my social anxiety. My stomach clenched with nerves.

"Good morning, is this Miss Ariella Gates?" A deep voice asked into my ear as I fumbled to place the phone on speaker.

I paused for a moment, raising my eyebrow. "Yes?" How in the blue cheese do they know my name?  What else do the know about me? And why did I have to think about my own name?

"My name is Detective Carter. I'm calling about the death of your father," a short silence followed, "Jack Gates."  An anxious feeling began to gnaw within my chest as I fiddled with my jumper.