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A Worse Idea 122

“Hey, Sharise! You in there?” Anne yelled.

The lights were on, and Sharise was always in Prometheus’s garage. She sighed.

“Yeah, I’m in the garage.”

“Can I come in?” Anne asked.

Sharise’s heart skipped a beat. Hanging out with Crazy Murder Bitch by myself? No way.

“Why you want to come in?” Sharise asked.

“I think I, uh, left something in the garage.”

“What’d you leave?”

“My purse,” Anne said.

“You don’t have a purse.”

“The only reason you’ve never seen me with a purse is because I left it here the only time I brought it.”

“Uh,” Sharise said. She weighed the pros and cons of dealing with this situation. She could just tell Anne to fuck off, but she really didn’t like the idea of Anne being mad at her.

“I don’t see a purse in here,” Sharise said.

“Do you know what color it is?”

“No,” Sharise said.

“You don’t remember seeing it at all, right?” Anne asked. She was pretty proud of this lie. After all, there was no way Sharise could remember the color of a purse that didn’t even exist.

“Yeah, I don’t remember what the purse looks like. But that’s because you never owned a purse, bitch.”

Anne gasped. “Hey, fuck you. You’re a bitch.”

Probably shouldn’t’ve called her a bitch, Sharise thought, remembering Prometheus’s threats to make her train for HR. And also the fact that Anne very well may have murdered people.

“I know you just want your phone,” Sharise said.

Anne slumped, still leaning on the garage door. “Yeah, that’s basically all I’m looking for.”

Sharise opened the garage door. “Well, I’m busy right now.”

“Look, can I just have my phone?” Anne asked. “Prometheus had plenty of time to do whatever he had to do with it.”

Sharise sighed. She knew very well that Prometheus was going to be busy the rest of the night, just as she knew Anne wasn’t going to leave without the damn phone.

Sharise was tired, she was frustrated, and she just didn’t give enough of a shit.

“Sure, you can have your phone.” Sharise took the phone off of Prometheus’s table, then took the garage door clicker. She opened the garage door just a crack. Walked over to the door, slipped the phone under it, then closed the door again.

Anne knew the interaction was odd, but she wasn’t going to say anything. Too happy to have her phone back. She picked the phone off the ground, dusting it off.

“Thanks!” Anne yelled.

Sharise didn’t respond.

Anne walked away, into the night, back to her car which lay parked a half-mile away.

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