Penelope's POV
Two Years Later...
"You know I always hear them say. The magic thing about home is that it feels good to leave, and it feels even better to come back..."
"What are you doing over there? Turn off the radio." Elda kicked the door open and, after barely two steps, collapsed lazily onto the couch.
A thick wave of alcohol surged through the tiny, 210-square-foot room like a tsunami, violently assaulting my nostrils. I immediately turned off the radio and stood up. "You've been drinking again?"
"Yeah, if you can't bring me dreamer, just shut the fuck up."
I frowned. "If you keep taking morphine like this, you'll die."
The "dreamer" Elda spoke of was, in fact, morphine. Yes, Elda was a morphine addict.
"Who gives a fuck?!" Elda suddenly screamed wildly and hurled a pillow at me. "Stop talking shit or fuck off!"
I caught the projectile midair and stormed over to her, furious. "I give a fuck!"
