𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 |𝐃.𝐌

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐛 𝐥 𝐚 𝐜 𝐤 𝐥 𝐚 𝐤 𝐞

"𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐧𝐨𝐰
𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥
𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫
𝐀𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮."
-'Fearless' by Taylor Swift

──────────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰──────────
HEMERA

"I'm telling you," Pansy's lungs expel an exasperated sigh as she indignantly claps the hair straightener, the sound matching the rhythmic tapping of her foot on the bathroom's pattern-tiled floor. "Your hair is literally pin straight. If I run it over one more time I can't promise that it won't start falling off."

I glare at her through the mirror, my reflection portraying the kind of annoyance that I'd deem laughable if I wasn't too busy standing my ground against the palpable waves of nerves swirling around in my stomach. "No, it's not. See this strand?" I single out said future heat victim from the rest of my hair and hold it out for her to see. I doubt she spots the minor imperfection my compulsiveness has to deal with. "It's not straight enough."

"You seem to be begging for a bald spot." Rolling her eyes, Pansy snatches the tuft from my fingers and attempts to straighten it again. Her movements might be sharp and even a bit painful as she tugs on my hair but I can't blame her for it. If the roles were reversed and I had to deal with a person who's been sitting on a chair and doing nothing but complain throughout the whole process I doubt I would have resisted the temptation to slap them. Or burned their earlobes off with the straightener.

Fear the ones who hold the weapons.

Once she's done, she flashily unplugs the straightener to make it clear that she's had enough of my audacious peculiarity and places her hand on her hip in the most motherly bossy manner. "Satisfied now?" She asks, quirking a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

I turn my head from left to right, searching eyes taking in my reflection. My hair is still warm from the heat it endured so it feels like my fingers brush through dying flames when I smooth it out and pull a few pieces over my shoulders. "I think so."

"Shut up." She nudges the area between my traction-bearing shoulder blades. "You're literally perfect. Let's just hope that it doesn't rain while you're out."

I decide to let her sentence go in one ear and out the other as I walk out of the bathroom and grab the clothes I picked out for today. "Do you think it's possible for the universe to hate me this much?"

She shrugs, lingering on the bathroom's doorway. The ends of her hair barely brush over her clothed shoulders, "No. Yes. Maybe. If it rains, take it as an opportunity to have a magical first kiss in the rain. I mean a movie-worthy make-out session, you know?"

Laughter causes a low turbulence in my chest. I glance at the clock on my nightstand and quickly strip out of my pajamas when the realization that it's already six pm sinks in. Lucas expects me to meet him in the backyard in less than thirty minutes and I still haven't done my makeup. I cower away from imputing the blame on my defective time management and choose to believe that I'm simply another victim of the universe's grudges. "I'm not going to have my first kiss today. Although tempting, I'm not mentally prepared for it. Like let's be honest, I'm doomed to face the great risk of fainting just by hearing his voice."

Pansy shakes her head, flecks of withheld chuckles glimmering beneath her words. She walks over to her bed and jumps on it like a cat on a sun-drenched windowsill. Crossing her legs, her fingers absentmindedly find a loose thread in her cashmere winter socks and tug on it. "You're pathetic."