All right y'all, this is the end of Part 1 of this whole mess. With the elections coming, with my work starting, everything's sort of going to . I think I'm going to take a break from this story for a while. I know this has been sort of an ongoing saga, but it's a bit much for me to work on right now. Instead of a linear story, I think I might write a series of one shots roughly set along the original timeline I had planned. Thank you all for supporting me so much and I hope you all take care. 

=============

Krystal’s POV

It’s a new feeling, doing things for other people. Sure, when your friends asked you for favors, you gladly helped them out. But those were intangible things, like talking to a boy one of your girlfriends liked or letting your club members stay in your French chateau over spring break. You’d never run errands for anyone else. The old you would rather be caught dead than going, on your own—gasp—to buy food and delivering it. That’s what personal assistants were for, right?

Yet here you are, juggling a steaming package of pad seew, beef satay, and morning glory in one hand while texting Amber that you were almost there with the other.

Somehow you feel independent. Important. You liked how Amber depended on you.

“I’m back!” you call out when you open the door with your foot. “Oh crap!”

The carton of noodles spills from its precarious position on top of the other plates. You lunge forward but you’re way too slow and the noodles splat onto the floor. The boxes of vegetables and meat also tumble to the floor and you’re left standing in front of a desecrated mountain of fragrant Thai food. Shame colors your cheeks. You literally had one job and you ed it up.

“I’m so sorry Amber—” you’re reminded of the time you burnt a hole through her favorite pants (seriously when would you stop screwing up?) “—I’ll go get us some more food from the café downstairs right now!”

But throughout all this, Amber hasn’t said a single word. Instead, she’s sitting up with the most peculiar expression etched into her face. She looks like she’s going to be sick.

“Hey, is everything okay?” you immediately ask, sidestepping around the ruined dinner and hurrying to the bed. You place a hand over her forehead but she doesn’t feel feverish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Amber says in a strangled voice pitched an octave higher than usual. “Everything’s fine.”

“All right.” You stoop down and try planting a quick kiss on those becoming lips. She doesn’t kiss you back though. It’s as if she’s chiseled out of stone. She’s still staring at the wall with some emotion you don’t recognize. A few seconds pass and you’re not even sure if Amber knows you spilled all the food. It’s with thoughtful slowness that you bring your hand up and wave it.

“Amber? Hello?”

Amber jerks like someone stabbed her. That’s it. Something else is wrong. She wouldn’t be acting like this just because of the noodles. You gingerly sit on the side of the bed and shiver. The room feels quite chilly. It’s a wonder Amber isn’t cold.  

“Talk to me Am.” You wait patiently, eyes never leaving Amber’s face. She seems to really be struggling because she’s opened and closed about ten times within the span of thirty seconds. You remain quiet. She’ll tell you when she’s ready. After another few seconds, she seems to deflate and instead offers you a piece of paper you hadn’t noticed was clutched in her hand. You take it and hold it up to your eyes. It’s a check and the number of zeroes nearly trails off the page.

“What is this?” you start to ask, but abruptly stop.

There, in the bottom corner, is your mother’s signature.

The pieces fall into place with startling clarity.

“Ah, I see.” Your voice comes out so serene, so calm, that you think you deserve an Academy Award. “She paid you off, didn’t she?”

Please Subscribe to read the full chapter