30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,7

fucking humidity, that’s for sure. I’m so mad right now I could put my fist through the cinema-sized screen behind me. “Well? Will you all back off?”

“Abigail, you need to sit in the chair, right there.” Sophie points. One lonely chair—dead centre—up front.

“I know how this works,” I groan. “I invented the entire concept and rules of the intervention.”

After I plonk my butt into the chair like a dissatisfied toddler, Sammy clears her throat. “Stop scowling, Abs.”

“Screw you,” I scoff

“Charming.” She shakes her head.

I cross my arms defensively. Sammy sits with a sheet of paper, one leg placed over the other in the first seat from the aisle.

“Your skirt is too short, Ginger,” I spit in annoyance at this whole fiasco. “Nobody wants to cop an eyeful of your cooch.”

She ignores my taunts. “So, yes, this is your intervention. Tonight, we’re all here to help you. We’re your friends, and we love you.”

“You already said this before you blindsided me.” I throw my head back and sulk. Please make this night end. Please make them stop. And most of all, bite your tongue so you’re not cruel. These people love you, they’re your friends.

“Now you know the rules of an intervention. You must listen to each of us. We each get a turn to talk if we want to say something. We’ve written letters for you, which you can take home and read to help you understand how we feel.”

I roll my arms over, signalling they need to hurry up before my brain explodes.

“Tonight, we’re allowed to say his name.”

“You pinkie-promised, guys.”

“We’re not in primary school, Abs. Plus, interventions remove previous promises. You know that.”

Abruptly, I stand. “I don’t have to listen to this. I’m out of here.” My head spins. My heart thuds into my ears.

“It’s okay.” Trish’s tone is empathetic as she strokes my arm. “Sit down. It won’t take long.”

I sit even though my feet want nothing more than to run.

“I’ll go first,” Sammy says softly.

“Okay, Ginger. You do that,” I sneer.

“I love you and you know I do, even if you’re angry at me. But you’re my friend who needs help.”

“Best friend, traitor.”

“You’ve lost your spark, your soul. You were the most positive person I’d ever met, and even when Mike ended it …”

My entire body cringes as his name leaves her lips. I scowl. My legs jig.

“You still hung onto that part of yourself. But after the day he got engaged again and Bella passed away, not to mention the leave you’re being forced to take from work, everything about you has changed.” Her eyes become misty. She swallows hard. “We miss you. Please, you need to start somewhere. This is why we have pitched in to help you. Sophie, your turn.” She turns her head. She can’t even look at me now.

Miss Prim and Proper stands front and centre. I shake my head erratically in disbelief these fools would put me through this. Nothing can be fixed here, dammit!

“Hey, chick, sorry for springing this on you, but it has to be done. You’re a Debbie Downer, let’s face it, and you need something to do apart from sleeping all day and drinking. The weed thing I didn’t know about. Stop smoking weed, you idiot.” Sophie rolls her eyes. I do the same back to her, which causes her to glower momentarily. “It’s time for you to go back to work. It’s been over five months. You need to do something with your life. And since you can’t go back to your job, well, you know why, and because we love you, we’ve organised an interview for you. We’re offering you a fresh start.”

There’s no way I heard that correctly. “What?”

“We have arranged a job interview for you.” She bats her eyelashes.

“You can’t go around organising interviews for people. That’s insane.” I shift uncomfortably in the chair.

“No, it’s not,” Sophie states with innocence. “Trish, your turn.” Her voice is confident as she returns to her seat.

“Hi, Abigail.” Trish’s face screams sympathy; my mind screams punch it. But I manage to keep my now clenched hands on my lap. “I know you’re probably really angry with us, and I understand if you think we’re being nasty, but we’re really doing the opposite—we’re being kind. If this was one of us, you wouldn’t let us wallow in self-pity or hatred or whatever this meltdown is.” She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “I’ve spoken with my father. As you know, he has