Chapter 1 Chaotic Morning

Some mornings feel cursed, but this one had me wondering if I'd accidentally pissed off a witch in a past life....

LILA'S POV

The alarm screamed like a dying animal, I slapped my phone, and i missed, and sent it flying off the nightstand, it hit the floor with a crack that made my stomach drop.

No... no no no I stretched for it, my sheets twisting around my legs, and nearly face planted onto the hardwood, the screen was still on at 7:03 AM, but it now has with a brand-new spiderweb of cracks pieced across the glass.

"That is very fantastic".

I groaned, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling, today was supposed to be the day of the interview at Sterling & Graves, the kind of smooth, corporate firm that didn't just hand out jobs, they grant careers, the kind of place where people wore shoes that cost more than my rent and said things like "Let's circle back" without a trace of irony.

And here I was, already fucking it up before I even left my apartment.

The hot water lasted approximately thirty seconds before turning frozen, I shouted, rushing back and knocking over three separate bottles of shampoo in the process, one of these shampoos was the expensive one I had stolen from my ex-roommate, that one splashed across the tiles like some kind of floral-scented crime scene, "Great, now I smell like a fancy funeral."

I gave up on washing my hair and just stood there, shivering, while the water pounded icily against my shoulders. My reflection in the cloudy mirror looked like a half-drowned raccoon with my mascara smudged under my eyes (because yes, I had tried to look presentable last night, thinking it would help me sleep. spoiler: nah... it didn't), my dark curls tangling in the humidity.

I looked like I had been dragged through a bush backward.

The toaster spat out my bread like it had personally offended it, one side of the bread was barely burned while the other was somehow still frozen, I looked at it, debating whether it was worth the effort to chew, when my cat, Mr. Whiskers (a name he absolutely did not deserve), jumped onto the counter and swiped it straight out of my hand.

"Really?" I hissed.

He gave me a look that said, You're a disgrace, and strolled away with his prize, now I guess we are flat mates....

I settled for chugging the world's saddest cup of tea, it was weak, lukewarm, and tasting slightly of regret, my stomach rolled, but I forced it down.

"You need caffeine, you need food, you need to not pass out in the middle of your interview" That's what I told my self.

I had laid everything out the night before: black pants, a white blouse, a blazer that screamed "I am a competent and responsible adult." Or at least, it had screamed that in the store, but now, under the harsh light of morning, it just looked... sad and depressing.

The blouse was wrinkled, how? how did it happen? I had it ironed, I even had it steamed, and yet, there they were, wrinkles that made it look like I had slept in a dumpster.

Quickly, I grabbed the fiber roller and went to town, only to realize too late that it was covered in cat hair from the last time I had used it, and now my blazer was also fluffy .

"Isn't it Perfect."

I tried to tell myself it wasn't noticeable, I told my self that no one would care, that I was just overreacting, not until I caught sight of myself in the full length mirror.

I looked like an unkempt intern who had been hit by a bus, but who cares? I am not owing or dressing to kill right?

I made it out the door at 8:15, which should've given me just enough time to catch the 8:30 train.

First, I realized I had forgotten my portfolio, the one with all my impressive, assembled work samples, so I ran back upstairs, nearly tripping over my own feet, and grabbed it off the kitchen table.

Then, halfway to the station, I felt something wet leak through my sock.

I stopped dead on the sidewalk.

"No"

I lifted my foot.

There, stained across the bottom of my shoe, was a fresh, shining pile of dog shit, oh God I felt like throwing up.

A passing businessman gave me a wide space, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"This isn't happening." I said

I rubbed my shoe against the curb like a maniac, but the smell stuck to me like a bad decision.

I made it to the platform just as the train doors were closing.

"Wait!" I yelled, running like my life depended on it.

The conductor gave me a look that said, I hate you personally, but mercifully, the doors slid back open.

I stumbled inside, panting , and immediately collided with a guy holding a full cup of coffee. Time slowed, the cup slanted and the lid popped off.

And then, a splash of burning dark roast poured down the front of my clean white blouse, that was when the entire train went silent.

The guy stared at me, horrified. "Oh my God, I'm so..."

I held up a hand, "Don't."

I could feel the coffee leaking through the fabric, hot and sticky against my skin, my face burned, my eyes stung.

And then, because the universe hated me, the train stumbled forward, sending me crashing into a pole.

My portfolio flew out of my hands, papers scattering everywhere.

A single, hysterical thought echoed in my head: Oh I should've just stayed in bed.