Summary: Nobody likes being needed all the time…
Author's Notes: A team_prose entry for writerverse, and the prompt of "All By Myself."
Finally, finally, I can take a break.
It won't be for long, I'm sure, and lying at the bottom of a dark purse isn't exactly restful. But I'm completely fed up with being grabbed, poked, interrogated, thumbed over, and just relentlessly hassled every five freakin' minutes. Is the world ending or something? Is that why I get checked for new text messages over and over, as if the secret to escaping imminent doom will arrive over the ether from a random contact? From Tiffany or Brianna, or even Buzzdude? God—please.
At least it's quiet in here, though it smells like lip gloss and bubblegum. I'll just relax for a while and—ack! I'm ringing!
Ah, crap. Here come those damned fingers again…
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