FORMERLY V D' YAVOL.
For as long as she can remember, Dream has been... dreaming. Very vividly. She saw how her childhood dog died two days before he actually did, so she had plenty of time to prepare herself-her words. She's been to plenty psycholo...
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I pulled the straps of the red, tight dress to rest on my shoulders, my eyes following my own hand movements so I wouldn't have to think of anything else.
Especially not the man behind the door. Especially not him.
My anxiety was a ball on fire in the pit of my stomach and I felt sick, as if I might throw up my small dinner from earlier. My hands shook at my sides, the dark, soft curls of my hair lay utop my shoulders before I pushed them off and to behind my back.
My muscles ached with tight tension at the fact that I was supposed to leave my bedroom and show him the third dress in a row now, and have him observe me with a skeptical eye, then find my eyes and shake his head with a soft smile, and say, "Next one,"
He had already sent me back three times.
I checked my eyeliner wings, then my red lipstick and looked down at my black heels before I reached for the door handle in front of me, and gently pushed it down.
He didn't look up just yet, he merely sat there, on my sofa. With one of my magazines in his hand and the other held a cigarette between two fingers, the grey smoke bending and twisting into faint clouds above his head.
He had a black suit on. And black shoes and gold jewellery. He didn't wear a tie this time, he kept the black, extremely soft looking shirt open, revealing the chain and his tattoos to my curious eyes. He sat with one ankle on top of the other knee, his shiny black shoes glinting in my fluorescent living room lights.
I took stand in front of him, my heeled pumps hitting the floor and silently demanding him to look at me.
Finally, he did.
And my heart sky rocketed out of my chest at his smile.
It was a slow one that spread gently across his mouth. His eyes moved over the soft curve of my hip, ending where the dress did; just above my ankle. I lifted my arms, "Yes?" I questioned him, my voice barely above an embarrassed whisper.
"Hm," he hummed, closing the magazine and tossing it back onto the table in front of him. He killed the cigarette in the makeshift ashtray I had given him. He sat forward, with his forearms on his knees and his hands clasped.
"Spin for me?"
I obeyed him, a bright flush hitting my cheeks as I did.
He stood up slowly, taking up too much air in my apartment and my throat clogged up as he approached me steadily, his hands in his pockets. He paused right in front of me, his head cocked and that sexy, lazy smile on his lips.
"Good. Are you ready?"
I faltered, picking at my thumbs. He raised a brow at me, one of question yet I would not reveal what was tormenting me for the betterment of my ego.
"Don't pick, Dream," he said gently, like how one would speak to a child. I frowned my brows gently and looked away from his curious eyes. I turned back to my bedroom, once inside it, I fought the urge to cancel our outing. Cancel it because I wouldn't belong there.
