LITTLE KISSES

CHAPTER ONE // PIZZA-POPPER

One coffee hadn't been enough.

Two...

Three.

“Amy!”

I shot up from my desk that I had been strategically slumped over in a slumber.

“Amy...”

I rubbed my eyes, my mascara rubbing with it.

Elizabeth walked across the white carpets to me, “What are you doing?”

I mumbled as I fixed my hair and pushed my bangs away from my forehead, “Nothing...”

“Were you asleep?”

I looked to her and sighed, “No...”

“Yes, you were.” She pointed out, “What's wrong with you lately?”

“What are you doing in here?” I didn't want to answer her questions cause they all led back to him.

“Uh...” She looked at her watch, “It's lunch.”

I perked up, “Oh, thank god, I'm starving!”

“You...are?” She watched me as I got up and smoothed out the mess of my hiked up skirt.

I nodded, “Yeah... I haven't ate since seven.”

“Well, uh...” Elizabeth watched me, “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

“Pizza or something.” I said quickly, finding my coat.

“Pizza?” She echoed back, “Like the kind that's greasy and full of fat?”

I looked to her and paused, “Well, I'm sure they have healthier options for you.” I slipped my jacket on and headed for the door.

Elizabeth was laughing, “Says the girl who lived off vegetables the past year.”

I grunted, “I'm way over that.”

“I know but still...” Elizabeth pointed out.

“Are we going to sit here and talk or are we going to eat?”

“Eat.” Elizabeth headed for the office door and I was right at her side, “So, Steve's working late tonight.”

I nodded, glancing at my blackberry before actually taking in what she had said. We stopped in front of the elevator.

“Do you want to do something?” She then asked and I had known it was coming.

“I don't know. I feel sort of sick. This morning I was a wreck.”

“You were sleeping on your desk.” She pointed out, “Maybe you should go home and rest?”

I wrinkled my nose, not over my dead body was I going home early, “No.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and we stepped inside the steel box. Some others joined us and then we were on way to the bottom floor.

“How long you been feeling sick?”

I shrugged, “Few days... nothing major.”

“Have you been throwing up?”

I sort of wanted to hit her, sometimes she could get too concerned, “No.”

“What are your symptoms?” She yapped in my ear.

“I don’t have symptoms.”

Finally the doors dinged open.

She lifted her hand and started on her index finger as we walked out of the building, “Fatigue, need to consume foods of the fat kind, pale faced, grouchy...”