𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

09|| Five Steps Ahead

The Weeknd - secrets

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Celina

"I'm not wearing that."

I may have been stripped of my rights, forced against my will, and trapped beyond escape, but I refused to make a fool out of myself. And showing up in a pair of off brand heels that looked like they were pulled from the dumpster behind Macy's was a social suicide I wasn't willing to commit.

And the dress? I wouldn't be caught dead in it, much less seen in the presence of Manhattans higher class.

Yanking on my hair, the bitch runs a grease covered hand through it to slick it back, while she looks to the emotional support dolls she'd placed on the vanity in front of us, "We all know she's going to look terrible regardless of what she wears."

On the brink of snapping her dainty little neck, I roll my eyes at the girl who has yet to speak to me directly. Instead, she'd been communicating through her dolls, obviously still not over the fact that I'd threatened the life of one of them the last time I saw her.

And if the way she refused to address me directly wasn't proof enough, she'd brought along a guard - the sour faced Twinkie, who'd twitch at every move I made. I look at said Twinkie through the mirror. "Who's idea was it to bring this nutcase along to America? I want to know who to kill next."

All I get from Dima is a glare, while Natasha speaks up. "Petunia, tell the ugly peasant it was Dima's idea and that if she keeps talking, he'll chop off all her ugly hair and beat her to death."

That is precisely when she takes it too far. Threatening my hair was a line no one crossed unscathed. "Petunia," I mock. "Tell the rat faced bitch behind me that I'll not only put you out of your misery but slaughter every other doll in this room if anyone goes near my hair."

Her hands let go of my hair mid up do and she gasps aloud, turning her head to the man standing behind us. "Dima!"

Mouth forming a straight line, the man glares at me, and when I realize he's taking her side I can't help but raise a brow at him through the mirror. "Yes, Dima. Go on and defend a doll." I add in a head tilt to further aggravate him. "I'll really take you seriously then."

My sarcasm isn't lost to him and he stares at me a moment before dragging his gaze back to Natasha. He remains silent, yet almost looks as if he's physically holding himself back from defending the deranged Russian.

His reaction sparks my interest. So much so that my eyes flicker to my carryon splayed open on the bed, something he's got yet to blink an eye at.

If she'd told him about what I'd done with the dolls, then that meant she told him how she'd stolen my carryon to save them. Something punishable to the highest degree,  yet here she stands, safe from the consequences Adrik's would no doubtedly have. 

"Ugh!" Natasha's shriek of frustration drags my attention back to her eyes that are glaring at me through the mirror.  Reaching forward, she plucks petunia from the vanity. "Petunia, hates you!"

"Aww, and I was just beginning to like her." I pout as I watch her storm towards the door of the bedroom.

Dima's already moving towards the door, no doubted after her. "Finish up yourself. Feo, will be here to collect you shortly."