"Oh shit, oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." The words spilled from her mouth, barely more than a whisper, as she stumbled through the bustling street, her steps uneven and unsteady. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, a relentless beat that seemed to drown out everything else. She’d quit. She’d actually quit.
The cool, damp breeze did nothing to soothe her overheated face. She hugged herself tightly, her fingertips pressing into her arms as though she could physically hold herself together. She tripped slightly over the uneven cobblestones, catching herself just in time, but her legs wobbled, threatening to buckle with each shaky step. Overhead, the sky seemed to darken, clouds gathering as if in silent judgment. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.
“Why…why did I do that?” she muttered, her voice shaking. It wasn’t a great job, but it had come with something. A meal each day—a really good one. And now? Now she had nothing. No job, no money, no hope.
She turned a corner, quickening her pace like she could somehow outrun her own spiraling thoughts, but they crashed down, a title wave of unnerving fire fraying the very ends of her nerves. She could still see that smug look on Richmand’s face, the way Seria had giggled after she’d stormed out. “Fuck!” She didn't even get paid for her work. Not that it would have been worth anything but having something to hold her over at the very least.
“Holy shit…” The realization sank deeper, a slow, twisting ache. “my stupid worthless pride!” Tears fell from her open, hollow eyes. The words made her stomach churn. Whore myself out, he’d said. Her throat tightened, and she bit down a surge of bitter anger. The road became bury and she was forced to run her sleeve over her eyes.“Fuck you, you piece of shit!” She spat, startling a man passing by, who blinked at her with a raised eyebrow, his arms raised in confusion as he watched her pass.
“Oh, god…” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Her vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly, fighting back the burning prickle of tears. People bustled around her, their faces a swirl of indifference as they brushed past, caught up in their own lives. She felt like she was drowning, surrounded by people but she was so completely alone. The city would rather see her leave before she died, save them all the trouble of cleaning up her corpse.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. The nausea surged, and she swallowed it back, clutching her stomach as she forced herself forward. She found an empty space by a fountain and sank down in it, the cool spray of water misting her face as she tried to steady her ragged breathing. The sound of the fountain was a steady, gentle rush, but it did nothing to drown out the growing panic clawing at her insides. She felt utterly, completely alone.
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It took her over an hour to calm down enough to lift her head. She clenched her jaw, fighting the tremor that lingered in her hands. So what? She was still a reincarnator, right? She knew enough of the future to survive, and she had…well, almost had a diploma from a reputable online school for marketing. That had to mean something. Her life wasn’t supposed to be about some lousy café job or the petty people inside it. Even if all she’d ever done here was work, sleep, and repeat.
“Wow,” she muttered, blinking as the realization settled over her. Is that all I’ve been doing? Going to work, working, and heading home to crash, day in and day out? She wanted to believe she was enjoying her new life, but now that she thought about it, she was just…drifting. Almost every night, she dreamed of a life in glowing colors, one where she felt whole—a life that belonged to the original Rose, a past she could only glimpse in dreams. But was this life really any better?
Taking a deep breath, she looked at the fountain’s rippling water, her reflection wavering on its surface. I’ve been granted a second life, and all I’ve done is wait tables in some glorified tavern, she thought, biting her lip. Richmand could suck it; that wasn’t a café, it was a restaurant—barely even that. And who was he to call her pathetic? The man thought he was some hotshot manager of a café when he was running a dive bar for workers.
She chuckled under her breath, feeling a lightness spreading through her as she stood. “Well, buddy, you’re more messed up than me,” she whispered, almost amused by the thought. The warmth of the day brushed her face, the gentle hum of people around her grounding her. She took a long, steadying breath. Maybe this could be the first day of something real, something hers. That job had belonged to the old Rose, the girl who ran away from home because of some unresolved love.
But she? She knew life isn't about the man you married. She should have quit a long time ago and lived.
“Alright, moving on.” She exhaled calmly, her voice clear and steady. Her hands no longer trembled, and her gaze lifted, focused and unflinching. When she thought about it, things didn’t seem so bad. Her rent was paid, and she had time to find something new. With tensions rising in the south, there would be plenty of steady work to keep supplies moving, especially if a draft took most of the men away the women would find easy work to pick up the slack, as always. She chuckled. After all, it’s not like the world was about to turn upside down overnight.
The air smelled cleaner, sharper, like a faint promise, and the sunlight felt warmer than before as she set off toward home. She could even find a job closer to her apartment, something that didn’t make her feel trapped. Suddenly the walk home felt lighter and she found herself enjoying it a lot more, her steps carrying a pep she hadn’t felt in years.