Dahlia Wellburg hates her misery as much as she loves it. She sees herself as a stone: ordinary and unwanted. Yet, they know her to be a rose: soft, but with thorns.
. . .
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There was no text in the morning. No, I wasn't surprised - just a little disappointed. Of course, he wasn't going to text right away. That'd come off as too eager. But I doubted if there was anything that could make Elliot Monet seem eager - he'd only come off as a 'man who knows what he wants' - considering his shady, yet dominant vibes.
Elliot Monet.
That truly was a beautiful name. Espically the last name. Monet. Growing up, Monet had been my favorite artist. While I commanded no talent in the art of painting, other than making a few weird covers for my journals and other things, I had always been interested in art - especially his.
There was no text from him, but there were a few texts from Otto, Mom, and Dad - all of them asking if I had opened the gifts they gave me.
I wasn't really good at taking gifts, especially from my parents. When I was younger, I'd get rewarded for academic achievements only. Birthday gifts were tiny, nonessential things that consisted of something basic. Being born isn't an achievement.
It wasn't for me. But it was for Emilia, considering how many miscarriages my mom had between me and Emilia. I didn't know the exact number, but it had been high. And even if it had been just one, I couldn't imagine the amount of pain she went through.
And, sure enough, one of the gifts from my parents was brownies and the other was a pair of earrings - not expensive by any means. But they were shaped like two tiny black sunflowers so I loved them. And I loved brownies, so that was a win.
I sat down on the bed with the gift Otto had given me. It was a tiny figurine of one of my cats - Bobby, a ginger tabby. (Otto's favorite of my two cats).
Bobby, as if he knew what I was holding, poked his head inside the room and meowed. Seeing me awake (my cats, for some reason, didn't bother me when I was sleeping), he zoomed through the room and jumped on the bed, looking at the figurine in my head. He looked at it curiously, nudging it with his nose and meowing.
I scratched his neck. "Ottot gave this. Do you like it?"
He, of course, just meowed.
I took a picture of him with the figurine and sent the picture to Otto, and made it my profile picture. Yes, I was one of those people.
I spent a bit more time in the room, eating brownies and feeding Bobby some treats. After a while we were joined by Vaness, who was a little grey British shorthair, just a tad bit older than Minnie back at the shelter.
Too soon it was time to show my face at the store. While I didn't need to be there all the time, I liked working there. The money which came from it supported me just fine. Nothing lavish - just enough.
