Mickey's Lessons on Bad

Lesson 33: Just Be You

Michelle couldn’t help, but to grimace at Mickey. The annoyance radiating off of him was the most obvious thing in the world, especially when he was standing behind her and glaring at the reflection. “Can you tone down the annoyance?” she requested, running a comb for the last time through her long locks of brown.

       “I know I agreed to convincing my mom in not canceling the party, but I didn’t mean I wanted you downstairs.”

       She mocked a wince. “Ouch, babe. You just know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

       He ran his fingers through his honey brown hair that seemed to be cut shorter and shorter as the weeks go by. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Mickey grumbled, trailing his hand down his face. “You just got released two days ago with injuries–”

       “They’re just scratches,” she interjected, rolling her eyes. “The only real injury is the one on my lower back, but I’ve been taking the painkillers that Dr. Crenshaw prescribed for me. It’s not that bad.”

       “I still think you should stay up in here, with Figaro, and rest.” He gently pushed his chest up against her back and caged her in between his arms that were rested on the granite counter. He kissed her barren neck since she put her hair up into one of those messy, but elegant buns. “Please, it’ll make me feel better.”

       But Michelle wouldn’t budge and stuck out her chin. “I already have my hair made, makeup done, and dress on. I look pretty and I won’t let you take that away from me!” she responded, slapping the comb onto the counter.

       He trailed his lips up to her ear and whispered seductively, his hands running down the skirt of her dress, “Well, about the dress, I have no problems with taking it off for you.”

       Michelle couldn’t fight the urge of wearing Ella’s one-of-a-kind dress that she made for her by hand. It slipped on like a glove and looked– and felt– perfect for tonight’s New Year’s Eve. It was a strapless dress; the top being different colors of leopard prints with a bold pink outline and the skirt having various colored layers that went along with the top. It was a relief for her that the dress just covered all of the scratches.

       If anyone were to ask why there were scratches on her back, God forbids her dress would slip down a bit, she’d just reply that the cat did it since the top part of her back looked like something Figaro would have done… if he was a few years older.

       “How do I look?” Michelle asked unsurely, resting her hands on her hips. As most girls, she started doubting her outfit. Was it really for New Year’s? Does she even do any justice to this beautiful masterpiece?

       Those questions, or at least the last one, must’ve escaped her lips accidentally. Mickey tilted his head forward and bit down on her neck, not too hard but not too soft. “As the son of a fashion designer, I’d know what does justice in what outfit or dress. And, despite how gay I just sounded, the dress is the one that doesn’t do you justice.”

       She giggled at his compliment and smiled through the reflection. “So, you’re okay with me going downstairs now?” she asked, hopefulness in her voice.

       “You would sneak down anyways,” he retorted playfully, smiling as well. “If your lower back somehow gets hurt, do you promise to retreat upstairs?”

       Michelle nodded. “Yes, I do.”

       “You know, we haven’t had a proper make out session in quite a while,” Mickey suddenly blurted out, his chin settling on her bare shoulder. Thankfully, heat blasted throughout the house to prevent her from getting cold. “Can we have one now?”