Divergent souls || 2

Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ⇆ ANGELINA
surprisingly, the week actually passed in a haze, I didn't even feel the days come by through, maybe it's cause I've dreaded that day so it came faster.

That last sentence doesn't sound logical, but lately, nothing about my life has been logical, and it's killing me.

"No! I don't like the black one." Vera screams from the phone and I twist my lips in an arch, she just shrugs, "It's better I swear." She assures and I look at the white dress she's preferring at the moment.

It's beautiful, but so is the black one, "You need to change your style, not that it's bad you're a fucking model after all but I mean that you need to get out of the black phase." She explains teasingly and I glare.

She smiles wider, holds up her thumps, "I'm being honest right here." She explains, "Black is classy." It's the best actually, "You can still be classy in white, It's not about the dress I can assure you, girl, it's about the person wearing it, A monkey can wear the dress and they wouldn't look good in it, but you? You're the one making it majestic here." She explains with a breath.

I understand what she was trying to do here, but I still arch a dry brow, "What's up with the reference here?" I ask, genuinely, She laughs, the sound brings joy in my veins and I can't help the small smile stretching over my face.

"Fine, the white one, hold on I'll shut off the camera, be right back," I mutter under my breath and do so as I start undressing, eyes on the mirror, I take off the straps of my tank top and slip it over my head, doing the same with my pants.

Then sigh, and look in the mirror, I'm just in my underwear, Lace and black, Victoria's Secret, They're enough to make anyone confident in them as they say, but some moments like this, I just feel...unsatisfied.

And while I don't compare myself to models or even people surrounding me, sometimes when I stare at myself in the mirror like this, I just feel like something is missing, or that something is wrong while that's far from the truth.

But insecurities are mostly built up with emotions, so many fucking emotions that society wrench from us, logically, there's nothing wrong with my stretch marks, it's a physical reaction that arises from normal growth, there's nothing wrong with the slight loose skin of my arms, there's nothing wrong with my birthmarks, there's nothing wrong with any of them.

but the ideal form of our bodies they place in this goddamn world is unrealistic.

And while I loved modeling too much to even consider giving it up, I do realize how fucked up their standards are, luckily, I'm born with most of them, but that doesn't reduce the fucked up part.

After what seems like an eternity, I finally slip into the white dress, it's backless, long-sleeved, and beautiful, I still prefer the black though, I inhale a breath and pull my hair up to take a better look at the dress.

One word pops up in my mind and only one.

Luxurious.

Apparently, this color is really fucking stunning, it enhances my dark skin, makes my eyes pop too, the green in them clearer than ever, I still hadn't done my makeup, but I'm already satisfied with this.

I grab the phone and flip it over so that she sees the full view in the mirror, the first thing I hear is a gasp, then an excited laugh, it makes rare excitement rushes through my body too, "It's fucking gorgeous and don't think about saying another thing!" She warns with a held finger.

I smile, "Well, thank you after all." I raise a playful brow and she bows dramatically, "Of course, the work is all mine." She exclaims and I glare playfully, She laughs and eventually so do I.