Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"I want a freak in the morning, a freak in the evening, just like me..." ♫ Freak Like Me by Adina Howard.
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"Marry you? But, I'm supposed to peg you."
The first words from my mouth after a dramatic and beautiful declaration of love—fuck that, a fucking proposal of marriage like Harlow just gave me, should have been 'yes, yes, a thousand times yes.'
Hell, I was sure he would've settled for a 'hell yeah' or a 'sure, that sounds okay.'
But instead, my frazzled, stupid brain was so caught off guard and so blown away by the gesture and by this unforeseen proposal that it could only latch onto one thing. The one thing that I happened to actually be looking forward to and knew about.
Sex.
A proposal was not on my 2010 bingo card.
And Harlow, who was watching me so intensely as the seconds passed, so nervous and cute, so desperate to hear me say yes, wasn't expecting that answer either.
At least it made him laugh and didn't make him cry.
He let out a string of throaty pitiful cackles and hooked an arm around my waist, holding me impossibly close, "B-Baby, I promise you, that's still happening," he nodded, tempting to silence his laughter by biting his lip hard, "No ones gonna steal your strap away, don't panic."
"Don't panic? You're proposing!" I nervously rambled, half talking, half screaming in his face with wide eyes, "You're serious, you want me to marry you? Like be married. Like White Wedding, Billy Idol, married. Like, we have rings and we stand in a church, married."
I was acting as if there was any other kind of married but my whole body had the crazy jitters. I was tense, I was anxious, I was tired, I was horny, I was happy.
I was tempted to slap myself across the face to make sure I wasn't dreaming, which would've only made me seem like even more of a psychopath.
"Made a promise to the devil I'd never set foot in another bloody church again. But, an underground strip club? Sure. I know a coupl'a hooker's who are legal officiants. Myself included,"
"I'm being serious here!" I hissed out, taking out my frustration on his muscular arm with a soft smack. I tried to ignore the bounce of his growing biceps. So soft and sculpted.
Curse you, male anatomy.
I didn't sound serious, I sounded hysterical. Like my neighbor down the street who talked to her cats and named each one after different members of The Breakfast Club.
"You're serious? Uh, excuse you little miss ma'am," He sassed me, rubbing his nose against mine gently, his nose hoop bumping my nostril, "So am I."
The feeling sank in then, like a weight dropped into water and I held onto both sides of his face.
