What's home, if not the first place you run away from? What's love, if not that unexplainable, blazing feeling which comes after a period of hate?
Reputable for her catchy appearance, her over-niceness, her obsession with cartoon animations and her...
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Lana Del Rey ft. The Weeknd - Lust For Life.
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I PUT ON MY ROPE HEELS for tonight and stand upright. Pheew, thank goodness I'm ready. And it's just...I fish out my phone from my purse...6.56p.m.
Paul said to meet him at a restaurant downtown for our date. He drove all the way from Toronto for this date since he's been living there, courtesy of his boss. And although he's the one who whole-heartedly set this thing up, I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him. He put in a lot of effort.
I'm putting on a white halter dress. It's short as fuck and it's tight too, leaving little for the imagination.
The funny thing is that I'm not even wearing this dress for my date, I'm wearing it for him—my asshole, neurotic of a boss who's not said a word to me for a few weeks now.
It's not his fault though; I'm in my room most of the time and he's been very busy, but it might as well be fifty years, because it feels like such a long time since I felt his hands on me, and surprisingly, I miss that.
I apparently miss it so much, I dressed like a whore on purpose to elicit a reaction out of him if he sees me today. A reaction which ends in my moaning out loud for more.
I need help, serious help, considering the fact that throughout these past weeks, I've been very naughty...doing bad things on purpose to make him notice me; things like bumping into him on purpose, going full days without wearing a bra...wearing tank tops and drawstring shorts whenever he's working from home and lazying about in the living room, whilst sneaking sultry glances at him. None of these things have worked.
Yesterday, I even spilled hot coffee on him, intentionally, but all I got was a displeased grunt and silent exit from the kitchen.
He's acting like I don't exist. Never has he ever deserved that Snub Guru award like he does now.
The last time we spoke was that night.
The night when I don't know what came over me; I don't know why I teased him, but when I saw that red nightwear set Nessa bought me - she always gets me lingerie on my birthday because 'I don't show my sexiness enough' - lying in my drawer, I just had an irrepressible urge to test it out on him and see what he'd do to me.
I had to prove to myself that he indeed wants me; that the groan he released in his Audi on our way back from his HQ was because of me, and I wasn't just hallucinating and cooking impossible things up in my head.
I proved it. He does want me the same way I want him.
