1 - Beginning

Blearily, Frankie Wilson woke to the cold. Eyes half open, she observed the light from the window was not as bright as it usually was when she got up. She closed her eyes and entertained the dream she woke in the middle of. Maybe a few more minutes of sleep.

The man in the purple suit came back, apologized for his lunacy of denying her the promotion, and gave her a raise. Ha! There.

She smiled and laughed inside. The dream wasn’t quite a nightmare, since while it played out, she was oddly calm about the whole ordeal. Especially since in real life she would have ran him through, or sued. Or something, she would have been so mad.

Her alarm went off. She wriggled in sheer annoyance as grumpiness spread like a bloodstain through her chest. She had not gotten any more sleep. After counting to five, she sat up, and realized her sheets were half on the floor. She sighed. He always did that. What was he trying to do? Spite her? Make her more tired during the day? She had always wondered. There was not much she could do, though. He stopped for no one.

She blinked her way to being a bit more awake, then swiped her phone off the bedside table. Pulling up her new favorite hit pop, she turned up the grunge and bobbed her way to the bathroom. There she danced through all she needed to do, and took her pill. She went to her dresser, and changed clothes. Today, she decided, was the day for her new wine red-violet shoulder-less cute top, with ruffled sleeves. She slipped into the matching, ruffly purple skirt. She was wrangling on her apron when he banged on her door.

“You up?” he called.

She quickly lowered the volume on Breaking Love and blinked a few times, registering his message. “Half awake,” she managed.

“Your coffee’s waiting.”

She sighed in anticipation. It was one nice thing he did for her. She quickly threw on the apron, and remembered to grab her earring box to bring with her.

She went into the kitchen, setting the box on the island and greedily snatching her coffee. She let her fingers hug the cup, the warmth seeping through before she drank. As always, she let herself hope (against reason, she knew) that the heat would warm the rest of her body somehow. Her restraint broke and she took a swig.

“UG!” she spluttered. “Where’s the creamer??” she demanded.

He laughed, in that hot way where he threw back his head and she wouldn’t be surprised if the apartment shook. It reminded her of a lion.

Rolling her eyes but unable to help smiling, she opened the fridge for the creamer. She popped open salted caramel, only to find it empty. Grumbling, she threw it out and reached in the fridge again, hopeful, to find french vanilla. Her favorite. Her bf was full of surprises, really.