Dark Paradise

Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo

Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo

Adriana's P.O.V. 

The clock stroke nine and I was fixedly positioned, openly ogling the lustrous glass built, fifty story structure.

I mustered up the audacity to intensely inspect my appearance through the slightly dark tinged glass. The strikingly pure red sweatshirt that worked as securing my upper body parts appeared archaic and overused, and the detested hole present in the hem certainly proved so. My barely awake eyes involuntarily traveled downwards in order to get a better access to staring at my pants that were light washed and extremely loose-fitted, to my satisfaction. Last but most certainly not least, my white converse shoes were no longer resembling the color white, it was an utterly spontaneous combination of bronze, black and green.

My average daily attire wasn't as appealing to others, but I never dressed to impress a soul. My ever so optimistic self arose; the clothes were exceptionally comfortable.

Inhaling followed by exhaling four times later, I eventually authorized myself to access through the automatic double doors. The exact second my feet came in contact with the light marble tiles, soft murmurs and ever so loud whispers erupted in the highly monumental floor. My anxious self managed to disregard all the juicy gossip ridden mumbles.

All the gratitude to my outstanding memory lane, I rode the elevator to his floor. Once the elevator dinged open, I slowly strolled towards the front desk. Much to my satisfaction and surprise, I was gladly welcomed with someone other than the rude and ill-mannered woman I encountered in the previous visit. With a bright smile, she requested of me to take a seat, as I waited for him to end his meeting.

His door finally flew open, revealing a gruff old man dressed in some dark slacks, exiting but shaking Morgan's firm hand before doing so. Once the man was out of sight, I rose and walked towards Morgan's location. As soon as his dark orbs spotted my presence, his overall mood took a whole three hundred and sixty degree. In his apparent aggravated state, he walked into his office, the door remaining wide open for me to enter, and so I did.

Morgan placed himself in the swivel chair that resided right behind his glass made desk, that appeared much more organized than my previous visit. He crossed his muscles ridden arms over his chest, and swung his feet above and adjusted them on the table. My eyes dilated at his horrific actions. Well then. The unimpressive tedious expression that always seemed to be  masking his features was undoubtedly present. I adjusted myself right in front of his desk, waiting patiently for his majesty's instructions. His eyes shamelessly eyed me from head to toe, and once he was finally done, he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"You better wish this is a joke," a brow of mine arose a millimeter or so at his words, in utter confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"You're rather dressed for a vagrant exhibition, not work, at a highly respected place, might I add." his insults were nothing new or shocking. I adapted myself towards them, but that didn't signal I would let them slide every single occasion. My eyes traveled down to my attire, and I carelessly shrugged.

"Well, excuse me for not dressing up like I work at a brothel, like the other women here," I stated nothing but the horrid truth; women residing here held something against clothing. Which was exceptionally unprofessional, if you asked me. His brow involuntarily rose at my insensitive words.

"Those women dress to impress, not distress," he motioned towards my figure and my eyes squinted, attempting to glare at him.

"Those whom have no respect for women would obviously carry an opinion like that," I smiled in triumph and he took it upon him to glare.