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Challenge of the Week LXXVII
This week we're going to try something different. Very different. Sort this challenge feed by newest. Read the most recent post, then continue it. Posts will be constrained to 700 words, so nobody has to read a novella before writing their own entry. When evaluating, we'll read the posts in order, from oldest to newest. Feel free to depart from the previous author stylistically, thematically, or in whichever way you choose, though your entry should be somehow connected to the previous entry. If the previous post is nonsensical, or otherwise hopelessly salvageable, continue from the most recent post you can. (If you do elect to continue from a different post, it'd be helpful if you could indicate which post you're continuing from). We'll write the first sentence. "The dream came to an abrupt end when the hysterical ringing of the telephone split the midnight silence."
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SelfTitled
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reality check.

“It was her bestfriend disguised as her killer - a traumatic betrayal that she’ll carry even in her grave.” Two high school students, sophomores engaged in intimate relations, stare at the girl’s laptop, gaping at the ending of the story they have binged for the last week. Lola opens her mouth, the promptly closes it, like a fish, really. Raúl blinks endlessly, shuts his eyes, then slowly opens them.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“That’s it? Nah - shit, bruh, that can’t be it-”

“Damn, son, I don’t fuck with these cliffhangers, moe, the fuck is going on-”

“Ay, yo, hol’ up a minute, I gotta take this.” A twenty-something-year-old woman stands from the bed, cutting her eyes at Raúl, who opens his mouth to complain. She doesn’t need to speak and tell him to shut up; her glare does all the talking. Briskly leaving the dorm room, heels clicking with each, poised step, she answers the phone the moment the door is closed and she feels alone enough to speak freely. ”¿Hola? Carlos, ¿qué quieres? Estoy en medio de una misión con Lola y Raúl y ahora no es un buen momento.” She huffs, running her freshly manicured nails through wavy, chocolate, stress-prone locks. Not this. Not now. “Ya te dije esto. Ya no trabajo en esos trabajos. Encuentra alguna otra puta perra. Estoy tratando de armar mi mierda. ¿Lo entiendes?”

“Angela? You alright?” Fuck. She whips her head around to find Lola standing in the hall, gentle hand resting against the doorframe. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, concern branded across her face. Angela resists the urge to cringe, to lash out, to break down; she promised herself that her little sister would never see her like this - never again. But Carlos is there, in her ear, like Mephistopheles, tempting her patience, tempting her emotions, tempting her-

Angela needs the money. Lola needs the money. This is the only way to get her through this expensive-ass, cash-thirsty boarding school. This is the only way to keep her from going back home.

”¿Asi que? ¿Ha cambiado de opinión?” Carlos almost sounds smug. Angela clenches her fist tighter around her phone, acrylics scratching at the screen. But, to her sister - her darling, innocent sister who is far too good for her own sake - she forces a smile and giggles, waving her hand in such a carefree manner that Lola grins right back at her.

“I’m fine, Lo. Just some bullshit from work. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

“Good, because Rafa wants to talk about the fic. Could you believe that ending!” Lola throws her hands up, the most eloquent way to get her words out, still at a loss. “I mean, what the fuck man! I wasted a whole week, I coulda been doing that project for Lang-”

”‘Project?’” Angela quirks an eyebrow at Lola, who falters, swallowing thickly. She barks out an over-exaggerated laugh that is born from her diaphram and booms forth from her mouth. Though her defense mechanisms were more incriminating than helpful, Angela knows her sister well enough to know that the sudden guffaw is just a highly awkward don’t worry about it. “Lo, I’ve gotta go.”

The laughter dies down a little more rapid than Angela would have liked, and she grimaces at the crestfallen look on her sister’s face; at the way her back and shoulders collectively slump, defeated.

“Right. Well, you are working and everything now. These calls come with the territory, I guess. Shoulda peeped that...” Angela wants to pull her sister into a hug, wants to tell her that it’s alright, wants to scream and shout at her that what she’s doing is for her and that she needs to grow the hell up.

Angela, instead, like a good big sister, just leans forward, kisses Lola’s forehead, and takes a step backwards. “I’ll see you later,” she promises, and she means it.

When Lola looks back up, Angela’s already so far down the hall that she didn’t get the chance to sneak a peek at caller ID on the screen.

“Good girl,” the demon on the phone praises her. “I’ll see you soon.”

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