Guilty Conscience ~ Abbacchio/Fem Reader

Chapter 14: Pitiful Excuses

WARNING:
This chapter of Guilty Conscience contains minor depictions of bodily trauma and injury.

30 minutes.

It should've taken at least 45, but she told her friend to speed.

Told her friend that if they got pulled over, she would pay the ticket.

Raindrops pelted against the windshield like a barrage of stray bullets.

She told her friend to go faster. That she'd pay for the gas too.

"It's work," Y/N said to the thin blonde who was speeding down the freeway. "They might even promote me," she said.

Promote her from being just the rookie, to the rookie that they saw as a part of their team.

They'd offered her a seat at their table. She was stupid to hesitate, but not stupid enough to miss the opportunity that had been so gracefully set into the palms of her hands.

Her friends didn't object when she told them that she had to leave. Nor did they fret when she began to walk away, quick to say goodbye to all but the blonde girl that offered her a ride. She wasn't all that close with them anyways. And neither were they to her. Y/N didn't even know half of their names, though she didn't admit it. And she wouldn't dare to ask any of them - it would only embarrass her. After all, these people were practically strangers; a group of nobodies she met while passing through a university campus.

She got lost, asked for directions, and managed to make small talk with a few kids around her age on the way. She called them friends but to her, all they acted as were loudspeakers to drown out the steady thrum of the silence - people to be around simply to shoo away the gaping jaws of loneliness that snapped and nipped at the soles of her feet whenever she was by herself. They filled her spare time all too well and acted as wonderful tour guides for the awfully confusing university campus that she so regularly passed through. No matter how many times she visited that school, she couldn't for the life of her figure out her way around.

After all.

Y/N wasn't even a university student.

But nobody needed to know that.

It was dark outside. Wet and muddy and humid raindrops seemed to attack her from every angle as she stood on Bucciarati's front doorstep. Y/N regretted not looking at the forecast. Of all the days for a torrential downpour to happen, why did it have to be that day? Looking up towards the dark clouds Y/N sent her eyes rolling to the back of her head in exasperation. Mother Nature, she silently asked, why today? More droplets cascaded from the sky, shooting towards her like a bullet to its mark. A cluster of crackles and flashes of lighting was the only response Y/N was given. So I guess this is what I get for nearly dumping out on dinner with the bodyguard squad? The wind ripped through the slender passages in between the houses that lined Bucciarati's street causing howls and deep whistles to hum all around her. Y/N knew Mother Nature must've been telling her, yes, this is what you get.

A wave of disappointment washed over her features as she looked down from the sky to see that her favourite leather boots had been soaked from the inside out. Even the bottle of white wine she managed to buy off of one of her friends had been soaked in its brown paper bag. It just so happened that one of the boys, Marco, brought wine for the occasion and was willing to sell it to Y/N for well over its buying price. She knew she was being ripped off, but also knew that she couldn't show up to Bucciarati's house empty-handed. The water in her shoes sloshed around as she took a step forwards and rose a wet fist to knock on the door.