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 - Happiness Is A Butterfly.
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I DESCEND THE STAIRS SLOWLY, afraid that I might trip and fall in these ridiculously high heels.
Who bought me these shit?
Oh, I remember. Nathaniel. Date eleven.
He was really nice, but couldn't stop quoting Andrew Tate. It's like he was on a mission to give me whiplash. One minute he's nice and Shakespeare-y, the next he's telling me why women shouldn't expect loyalty from men who worked for their money.
Summary: I took the designer shoes and dipped.
My mum had to drive down to that restaurant and help me sneak out of that shitty excuse of a date.
He didn't even call once to find out why I bailed on him.
As much as I liked that fact, I couldn't help but ponder over the fact that Nathaniel was toxic as fuck. I cried for any girl he'd end up with, then I tried to burn these heels. It was Aunt Cynthia who told me not to.
I'm not regretting it though, these shoes are bomb. Accompanied with my black, sleeveless, square-necklined, left thigh-slit, silk gown, - that I wore without a bra 'cause it didn't necessarily need it - my silk-pressed hair, dark-red lip color, black purse and the black, lacy garter strip wrapped around my left thigh, I'd say I look stunning.
Moreso, I did it without Joan's help. I would rub it in her face, but I'm not an asshole.
Yeah, right. Okay, that's not the reason. She's not around, is the actual reason. Theresa went to a bookclub meeting and she went out with that redhead, Genesis.
When I get to the last step, I exhale in relief. Finally! I'm not really good in high heels like Amara. I trip a lot; that's why I prefer sandals.
As you might have guessed, it's Monday and I'm going to see my mother and possibly, my aunts.
I whip out my phone from my purse to check if my Uber has arrived. Nothing. He's not here yet. I will give that motherf...take a deep breath, girl...I will give that man a one star on his rating. He's almost thirty minutes late!
I humph and move towards the entrance door.
When I open it, my eyes bulge and my heart shambles its rhythm because right in front of me, is Mr. Ash all dressed up and leaning on a black Aston Martin.
He looks like he's waiting for someone. Well, well, well, now he's going on dates, eh? After practically a week of him ignoring me and me stalking his every work-out session, he's not said a single word to me. But here he is, all dressed up and probably texting Ingrid Reid to find out if she's ready to be picked up.
