The dull blue-and-white tiled floor of the break room had never looked so good to her eyes before. Crossing the small room, she skirted its only table...and opened the refrigerator. A bottle of apple juice, half of a crusty-looking chocolate cake from Jasmine’s birthday a few days before, various Tupperware containers with unknown contents and a cup of yogurt she’d forgotten she had, stared back at her. Yogurt in hand, she turned away from the fridge and was about to rifle through the drawers. I sat up and looked over and she was thrashing about in bed and was punching at the air around her, and seemed to be quite distressed. I jumped out of bed, my grogginess rapidly disappearing, and reached down and gently shook her shoulders whilst calling out her name."Annette! Annette! It's ok, you're safe here, there's nothing to worry about". Her fist caught me on the side of the head but there was no power in it, I shook her a bit harder now and she woke up with a jump. I tried to soothe and. We reached her apartment and she asked if I like to hangout with her in her apartment, I readily accepted, we walked in, it was a beautifully decorated house with a lot of paintings which were done by her. I sat on her sofa and she sat opposite to me on the other seat, she put on some mild music, and we started talking, suddenly I asked about her intimate life and asked me what would I like to know, I froze hearing this, she sensed my anxiety and asked if she could sit next to me, I said yes,. It was from Trish. (**I had to go back home to G.A.. Sorry my papa died.**) What? She couldnt be reading that right, Trishs grandfather died when they were in elementary school. Something was very wrong. Deciding against calling to arouse suspicion, She hurried out of bed and got dressed deciding to find that douche Brock and see what had happened. She headed to the local pub right off campus, a small but popular Irish establishment. She walked through the door and glanced around. No luck. She.