Complicity [h.s]

04

Aven Brooks

Silk.

It's rich on my skin.

Hugging me in all the right spots, silk has always been a mystery to me. When I was a kid, I thought there was only one type of silk. As a teenager, I thought the same thing. I realize this is because I grew up with no money. My mind never really thought about silk beside the fact it was used as expensive bedsheets in five-star hotels and pyjama sets for spoiled housewives in television shows.

But now, I understand.

Silk is amazing—especially on a dress like this one.

It feels like I'm wearing nothing but everything at the same time. It kisses my skin and shapes my curves to make me feel desired. It ruffles where it should but smoothes along the best parts. I feel pretty in silk. I feel sexy in silk. The slick material glimmers in the light when I turn a certain way. I like silk.

"I don't like the colour on this one," I state.

My eyes look up through the mirror to Zayn lounged back on the sofa behind me, sunglasses on his face and looking down at a magazine in his lap. Open black suit on his body with a half-buttoned black shirt beneath, he sits casually with his legs are parted.

He looks like he rather be anywhere else than in this boutique.

I turn around to be facing him so he can get a better look at the teal silk dress that falls to my mid-thigh.

His head pulls from the magazine, glancing up at the dress for a second of silence. His facial expression doesn't change. He shrugs, seeming like he doesn't care.

"C'mon, give me something." I shake my head.

"It looks like the other fifteen you tried on." His head tilts back down to the magazine. The quiet boutique hums gentle music in the background. He's notorious for being unenthusiastic about everything.

I scuffle and turn back around to face the three body mirrors, looking down at the dress again. My hands run up and down the fabric, trying to decide. I like the shape of the dress but I think the colour isn't fitting. I don't like teal.

"How's it going?" An employee walks around the corner to ask, her eyes going right to the dress on my body.

"Do you have this in other colours?" I ask.

"Yellow and plum."

"Plum, please."

She smiles and turns around to go find it. My eyes meet my own through the mirror, makeup perfectly intact. I run my fingers back through my dark straightened hair, fixing it up briefly.

"You know," I pull the straps off my shoulders. "These things would go faster if you just cooperated."

I pull my arms out of the straps and let the silk dress pool to my ankles on the podium, standing tall in just my black lace underwear set.

"All because I don't give my opinions about what dress you're gonna get?" He mumbles while flipping the page.

I turn around to face him.

"Yep, brighten up a bit."

He looks up from his magazine and shakes his head before looking back down. "I'm not your stylist."

"Never said you were. I'm just asking for an opinion from a friend." I correct.

"Not your friend either."

"Ouch," I smirk at the subtle dig.

He flips the page again, scanning the magazine with his eyes hidden behind shades. At the same time, the lady walks back around the corner with the dark purple dress. I smile as she hands it to me.