❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
Everyone thinks of them in terms of poisoned apples and glass coffins, and forgets that they represent girls who walked into dark forests and remade them into their own reflections. —Seanan McGuire, Indexing (Indexing #1)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Epic Summer To Do List B4 I Turn Eighteen: #7: Dye my hair. Midnight blue or get platinum blonde tips, so many choices...
"Hi, this is Reyna's voice-mail. You've got two options; call me later or leave a message after the beep."
BEEP.
I take a deep breath. "This is the last time I'm going to call you or even try to contact you. I don't know what I've done this time or what's up with you but this is just messed up. Why the hell aren't you talking to me? What the hell happened? When you're ready to talk to me, talk to me, I'm not going to keep calling you."
I throw my phone to the side. It lands on my pillow, bounces once and just lays there. I sigh and turn my attention back to my reflection.
I'm not vain by a long shot although I know that I fit into the definition of beauty according to society. But then again, how am I meant to care about this when I cringe anytime I look into the mirror?
I glare at the sight of my naked body. 5'11 feet tall of bones and no muscle. Long neck, extremely narrow shoulders, devastatingly long and skinny legs with a pair of chopstick arms. The tell tale sign of ribs protruding with every breath I take, narrow hips and a bust that is nonexistent.
I stare at my chest for a moment. I wonder if I can get a boob job done this year- I'm turning eighteen and Father can't say no to me this time. I mean, I could just use my college fund. It's not like I'm ever going to get accepted into college anyway.
I take in another breath and watch the prominent outline of my ribs poke out to the surface. I frown and walk away from the mirror, hugging myself.
The door opens and I turn to look at the intruder. Galina, my newly acquired body guard, ogles me. I raise an eyebrow and let my hands drop from my body. According to my old psychiatrist, Dr. Manon Gaspard, apparently you can look sexy even when you don't feel it and it's meant to be a good confidence builder or some deep shit like that.
"Yes Galina?" I sigh, turning away from her shocked eyes to pick my favourite pair of lacy underwear from the pile on my pillow. I quickly wear it, practically jumping into it. "What's up?"
The distinct sound of the door being slammed hit my ears. "I'm worried about how comfortable you are wit me standing here," she says, forgetting to add emphasis on the "th" sound in with.
