Ten Signs She's A Keeper

Chapter 2: Something with a bruh sound...

I know I am possibly the most awful human being out there for not being able to update in so long and I'm really, REALLY sorry guys!! I've just been really busy this past month and been having insane writer's block so I do apologise if my writing isn't as good as the previous chapter.

AGAIN, (and I really don't like doing this) YOU ARE NOT PERMITTED TO COPY ANY OF MY WORK. Thank you x

Pic: Arissa's dress for the gala, more or less :)

I take a deep breath and smooth out my dress, exclusively made by Versace. It is beautiful, I'll give you that, made with a shimmery silver silk-like fabric. The cut isn't too low, and it puffed out slightly at the waist, hiding my boyish figure, the skirt of the dress just covering my bruised knees.

I didn't look half bad, if I say so myself. My hair fell down my shoulders in dark, glossy waves and Aurora did my make up. It was minimal at most, just a bit of mascara to "accent my blue-green eyes" and concealer, but it made my skin practically glow in the light.

I honestly hate any form of social event. Balls are probably the worst, where you have to wear long, sparkling gowns that you always seem to trip on every time you take a step and politely refuse every invitation to dance in order not to make a complete fool of yourself and show your dancing inability. Not that I get many dance invites to begin with. The moment music starts to play, every single man in the room immediately rushes to Alina. I don't blame them.

"Are you done yet, Arissa darling?" My mother calls from downstairs "We're just about to leave and we're already fashionably late".

Fashionably late. How about I fashionably don't come at all?

Of course, I don't say this. I like to piss my mother off but I don't have a death wish.

"Just trying to find my shoes, mother" I yell back. My shoes are on top of my bed, in a shiny box stuffed with pink tissue paper but I make sure to waste five minutes of my mother's time. I smirk once the five minutes are up and quickly slip on the ten inch heels that were custom made with the dress.

Okay, maybe I was exaggerating. The heels are actually two-inch. But still, knowing my clumsy ways and a bad habit on tripping over everything, they could as well be stilts.

I slowly go down stairs, grabbing the bannister for dear life. My feet are far too used to my football boots to be able to walk in heels without being a potential death threat.

"There you are" My mother sighs "Honestly, we're going to be late."

"But isn't that what you were hoping for, mother?" I reply innocently, my eyes widening "After all, you do want to be fashionably late".

Aurora stifles a laugh with the back of her hand. For the first time, I register her appearance and I resist the urge to groan out of pure frustration. Her golden curls were styled into an effortless updo with curly tendrils, her make up light yet still enhancing her flawless features and she's dressed in a little pink Dior number that floats around her willowy figure. She honestly looks like she's just stepped out of a fairytale.

I'm not going to lie, but I look like I stepped out of a fairytale too. Except in my tale, I was the ugly troll under the bridge.

Yay me.

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The main problem about galas is that they're not very interesting. In fact, they're actually pretty boring. So while I'm mindlessly swaying to a tune that isn't very swayable, practically ripping my hair out as I hope for something entertaining to occur. Seriously, I'm contemplating about starting a rumour that Gavin cheated on Alina, just for some soap opera action. Or pretend I've found a dead body in the rest room like something off Agatha Christie's Poirot. Because hey, no one really cares until something dramatic happens. So during these times of desperate measures, I did what most people do at such occasions.