Penny For Your Thoughts Novels & Stories

I kept my head down, reading through every single message as they popped up, finding the entire thing unbelievably ironic. Even now, at this point, Presley still thought what I cared about was money. He thought I'd walked out over that one cent, over the necklace, and over the fact that he wouldn't loosen his grip on the wallet for me. But he never once understood that what I was done with had nothing to do with who paid for what. It was the fact that his heart was so violently skewed in someone else's direction. I locked my phone and didn't reply to a single message. My pale, hollow reflection stared back at me from the car window.

Hopefully without fainting. She nodded slowly to herself. Yes. That was the best solution. "Are you having a conversation with yourself?” Penny jumped and several people chuckled. Her gaze flew toward the speaker. A middle-aged designer sat across from her, looking amused. Heat immediately rushed to her cheeks. Oh dear… "I... I was just thinking." "Hm." He nodded knowingly, "Looks more like arguing with yourself." Laughter erupted around the table and Penny offered a weak smile. "Maybe a little.”

It was much later that night when sleep was far from her and she had tossed and turned and her bed was similar to a battlefield, that Audrey admitted she had been battling to keep James Mayer out of her thoughts all day. Damn him… It was humiliating, deeply so, in view of all he had said, but for some reason, James had forced himself into her psyche and she couldn’t get rid of him. When the alarm clock on her bedside cabinet showed two o’clock, Audrey gave up all thought of sleep and decided to go for a walk in the garden.

Faith had been staring at her half-drawn canvas for twenty minutes but couldn't get any work done. Instead, she kept thinking about Phil, Anthony, and Myra. What kind of woman was she? She must've been beautiful. Way more beautiful than her. Faith shook her head as she was disappointed in herself for thinking those empty thoughts. What did it matter if she was more beautiful than her? The poor woman was dead. And so was her baby. Anthony's baby.

What does this creep really want from me? “Penny for your thoughts?” Jane muttered when I was once again lost in my thoughts. I breathed out heavily and closed my eyes. This is the thing I hate about myself. I think a lot, I rack my brain about things that I couldn’t find the answers. Although I tried to act like I don’t care, still the thoughts linger inside my head, fucking me up again and again, and I know very well that it will just stop once I do something about it. Fuck it. For my peace of mind, I need to do something that was never part of my plan. I need to see Carmine. Well, shit really happens and you just have to deal with it.

But he didn't understand what she was doing. “I don't have any money left,” Penny said honestly. “But I'm sure this is worth a good amount. Can you find someone to buy it? You can deduct my hotel bills and…” Renny pursed his lips and refused to take it. “No, that seems important to you,” he said. Penny looked at him again. She was still hesitant to part with it. But only a second later, she looked determined. “It's no longer important to me,” she lied.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She thought: that's right. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She thought: put it in the ledger. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She thought: already written. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She picked up her pen. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She got back to work.

She looked around, but the narrow aisles were completely empty, the bright fluorescent tubes overhead flickering just a fraction of a second before stabilizing. Shaking off the sudden prickle of unease, she attributed it to the lingering exhaustion of the past week, the emotional toll of a breakup, and the late-night stress of university applications. She stepped up to the counter, setting her snacks down on the black conveyor mat, the old cashier scanning the items with a slow, practiced rhythm that brought her back to the mundane reality of the moment. "That'll be four dollars and fifty cents," the man muttered, his voice gravelly from decades of late shifts and cheap tobacco.

"We should just go home, I have things to do." Penny turned her head toward me like I had just committed a crime. "What’s more important than your colouring expenditure, Mr. Artist?" She teased, putting extra drama in her voice like she was on stage. I sighed. "It’s called ‘composition.’ Not expenditure." I breathed out lazily. "Well. Same difference." She grinned, then she turned to the driver. "Please get the ice cream. If Ryan doesn’t want his, I’ll have it too. Two scoops for one drama queen."

“Penny for your thoughts.” “Pennies no longer exist and then there’s inflation. You’ll get more with a nickel.” At least, she could joke about things. That he hoped this was a good sign toward a future with her by his side. “I guess I said something that’s got you questioning the meaning of life?” He tried to give her an understanding and sympathetic smile. “That’s one way of putting it.”