Wrong about affection KZ/BM

Детка

August 1 2017
——————

(Anya's point of view)

My hand scrabbles around my bed, blindly looking for my phone to stop the alarm. I groan as I realize I have important things to do today.

I got ready in a flash and was out the door and on the way to the studio. I have blocked out 2 hours for Matt and I to choreograph, then I have to drive to Palm Springs for the fitting, and finally I have a phone meeting with my management team about a new way to "promote me" as they said.

The company fitting me is Givenchy. They want to dress me for the Met gala next May; the theme is 'Heavenly bodies: fashion and the catholic imagination' which I think this brand will be perfect for, so doing this runway is like a test run.

The drive to the studio seems to fly by but when I get there, I didn't see Matt. I swear to god if he doesn't show up I'm going to be pissed. I pull out my phone, calling him to which he doesn't answer. I know I did this last week but he didn't have fucking GIVENCHY waiting on him.

I call a few more times and he doesn't answer. With a huff I pack away the yoga blocks I had set out for us to stretch and leave. I'm not wasting my Tuesday morning waiting for him.

I drive back to the apartment and leave my car there. While I wait for a coffee shop to open, I decide to take a well needed run. I grab a headband from my middle console, put it on and set out on my run.

The way that I run passes Trixie's apartment. Maybe I'll stop there for a little while.

As the run progressed so did my speed. Because I'm very flexible and limber, I can run considerably fast for a very long time. Slowing down is my only problem. Today was just a tell tale sign that I should stick to treadmills.

As I was running around a corner, I tripped on a rock which sent me flying to the ground. My knee scratched against the ground which made me stumble backwards. Scratching my cheek against the side of a brick building.

"Fuck!" I yelped as I grabbed my knee with one hand and my face with the other. "No, no, no, NO! Shit!" I shout. I looked at my hands. No blood. That's good.

An old couple passing by gave me an unimpressed look. If only they knew that my job was to look "pretty" all of the time. I guess this means I have to go to Trixie's after all.

Now sulking, I made it to his door and gave a very defeated knock. "What the fuck happened to you" Trixie looked at me in horror as he opened the door. "I don't want to talk about it. Could you please just cover whatever it is up?" I asked as I walked into the apartment.

David was nowhere to be seen, probably still sleeping. "Okay, but it's going to cost y'a" he moved to his drag room and I followed. "Thank you, mother," I sighed.

I looked in the mirror as I sat down and gasped. My cheek was bruised and bleeding. But I checked and it wasn't bleeding before. I must have looked like a crazy person walking the streets of LA with blood running down my cheek. Probably not actually, LA is a weird place.

"You look like a mess," he said. "I tripped on a rock and smashed my knee into the ground and my face into a building. I feel like a mess" I groaned. "I thought you weren't telling me," he chuckled.

He started to inspect my face. "I don't think I can put makeup over this," he said. "Can you put a bandaid on then? Please Trix'," I plead. He nods and goes off to get his first aid kit.

"So what's new?" he asked. "Well Givenchy wants to dress me for the next Met Gala" I shrug. "Not businesswise. In your social life" he reprimands. "Umm... Nothing" I say in a questioning tone. "Any new friends?" he pressed. "Oh, you're talking about Katya. Sure we're friends, Why?" I ask.