in which joelle d'amore is completing her final semester of university in the grand city of los angeles, california. when she finds herself in the presence of harry styles, a piercing man with dangerous agendas, she is permeated with fear. she saw s...
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It must be in the air—the ability to block out the past twenty-four hours from my brain. I'm walking around Caesar's Palace as if I wasn't attacked by somebody I trusted and considered my best friend. I'm walking around as if I hadn't watched her drop dead in front of me.
I've been becoming really good at distracting myself lately. Whether it be with strawberry margaritas, piña coladas, or sex, I find it's better to forget. I know that eventually I would have to face the insurmountable reality, probably the minute Harry and I get to LA, but as for now, I choose to forget.
And I've enjoyed my time forgetting so far. After a brunch all on my own, I visited a nail salon and walked out with a fresh manicure. To match my dress, I went with a sage green shade with accents of a darker green, a dark brown, and black. It was a cute color palette suggested by the manicurist and I like it a lot.
I never went back to the hotel room the way Harry demanded of me. I've surpassed the hour and a half he had given me and I've turned off my phone to avoid his calls. I might be playing with fire when it comes to him, but having been burned already, I didn't find it in me to care anymore.
The evening has come around fast, but the night has only begun for almost everyone here. I've stumbled onto the casino floor of Caesar's Palace. All I hear is loud chatter and chimes of winning slot machines on my way to the nearest restroom. Crowded, I almost bump into strangers who occupy the middle of a walkway. I excuse myself constantly until I finally make it to the women's restroom.
I appreciate fancy restrooms.
The aesthetics of a Renaissance-themed era are depicted in the walls and interior. I step in front of a sink with the large mirror and I set my tote bag above the counter. I finally take a good look at myself and I sigh when I see my tiredness.
I run my fingers through my hair, completely forgetting the healing gash of something to my head. I wince from the contact, but luckily I don't seem nick at the forming scab. Having my hair parted to the side had helped cover it up, I practically forgot it was there. My marked wrists are the only thing I don't cover. I no longer feel pain, but it might be the numbness. I'm still in shock after all.
I fix my hair to cover up my wound again. I then reach into my tote in search of my makeup bag.
I lean closer to the mirror in front of me when I begin to add concealer underneath my eyes. With my middle finger, I begin to dab the makeup into my skin for a natural blend. Looking less tired already, I then move on to touch up the rest of my face. I top off my look with a red lip. Not as opaque as I want it to be, I smack my lips between a paper towel for it to look just right.
I look better. I even feel better.
I pack up my things after washing my hands clean from makeup residue. Once dried, I sling my tote onto my shoulder again and make my way out of the fancy restroom to see where I'll end up next.
