Heart In A Cage

11

Isabella

I invite myself into Aya's bedroom by abruptly throwing open her door.

"Aya, you're coming to the club with me today." She peeks at me from behind her phone, then runs her attention across what she's wearing. An unspoken suggestion that it's going to take her a while to dress out the comfort of her night clothes and set aside snuggling in bed.

"I am?"

"Yes, and Francis—the guy I told you about yesterday—is coming. So are Seb and Blake."

"Oh, sure, sure, sure." She shuffles aside so I can plop myself onto the mattress. "What about your fetching boyfriend?"

I roll my eyes at the mention of him.

"Andreas is a dick. He's made firm reminders that the status of our relationship will always fall under bullshit, then whines when I go on to have my own fun with someone else. But at least a hot guy earned my number today." Aya drops her phone to the side and breaths out a sluggish laugh. I do not inform her of his intriguing hint that he'll bind me to his bed.

"Don't worry, girl." She takes my hand and looks me straight in the eyes. "You have the right to disregard his rubbish and choose between our hot new guy or Francis." She considers as she releases my hand and stares at the mute TV. The channel is open to a music video. A very indicative music video. A young bloke dressed in finery and too much lavish jewelry is sitting on a chair, singing inaudible words as two girls dance around him. "Or...you don't need to choose."

I roll to the side and inspect the vanity occupying the right side of her room. Unfolded bras, dirty makeup brushes, near empty foundation bottles, and hair clips are scattered across it. A guilty feeling tells me that if it weren't for Andreas and his unexplainable impulses to keep everything uncluttered, his bathroom's counter wouldn't look too different—because of me, of course.

"No. I like the hot guy, Leo, and I've told Francis I'd rather stick to a friendship between us." It's true. I ended up texting him after our little encounter at the club and clearing that up. After dodging a life with Jasper, it was time I found some stability and made friends.

"That's cute." Aya hops off the bed in a swift motion that startles me. "Now get your ass off my bed. We don't have too long to prep." She swings open the off-white doors of her closet. The stress of getting ready creeps in on me even though I was the one who demanded we go out and spend our night at the club. All because I want to annoy Andreas.

"Now?" I groan and twist onto my stomach. "We have a long while left."

"Yes. You wouldn't want to miss the chance of looking hottest on an Andreas-free night, would you?"

Despite my inclination to soak into the bed and rejoice on the silk of its blankets, I slowly get up with the hopes of igniting some kind of angered lust in my sulky boyfriend. Aya manhandles me to the closet. This is a clutter, just like her vanity, but in the most appealing way possible. It's clear that the congestion of hanging clothes on the right side is dedicated to casual outfits, and the left side...it's elegant, expensive, and sexy.

"I want a dress." With the bare suggestion, Aya gets to work. I try aiding in her rummage through the bunches of clothing but immediately get told to stand back. She dives in deeper, to the floor of her closet, and pulls out a stack of fancy clothes hidden in the recess of the wall. She hauls herself up and distributes it across the bed. Soon, we're pairing up tops—which are rather just thin scraps of material—with miniskirts and pressing pretty dresses to our chests.

I'm glad she got us on to this hustle early because it takes us a straining two hours to put together what we want to wear and get ready.

I run my hands down the satin black of my dress, admiring the way in which the V-neckline draws attention right to my chest. When I'd decided on this, I knew precisely what my sole intention would be: having my not-so-subtle boyfriend's eyes skid to my breasts as I stride past his room with my matching purse of gold chains slung over my shoulder. I do not doubt at all that right after that, he'll drop his gaze to my cut-out heels, drag it up my legs, and pause where the dress ends above my knees and splits across my thighs. Then it'll linger there for a few moments before he throws in enough self-control to meet my eyes.