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I wrote this story when young, it critically needs editing and correction which I'm trying to finish as fast as I possibly can. Either wait with reading it or suit yourself when you get to the 2017-chapters.
adore you,
x Michelle ♡
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We were halfway through a movie suiting Avery and River's taste more than Samantha's, when she had had enough and pulled me upstairs.
"Choose an outfit for tonight," she tells me.
"You were the one wanting to play dress up, don't give me any responsibilities," I tell her, trying to welcome the idea of a friendship with less hostility.
She smilingly walks over to her closet, and after throwing half of of her wardrobe out, she finds what she's looking for.
"Tada," she says, spinning the fabric between her hands. She's holding up a black short top ending half waisted. From where it's ending and down, there are thin bands crossing each other, three times before a knot finishes it off. The pants? Tight. Black. Bands. That's how I'll describe them. They're tight and black, and on the side of the thighs all the way down the same bands as the shirt cross each other down to the ancles.
"I.....," I frown. She looks so happy. "Hate it."
Why the fuck did I blurt that out? I had an answer in my head sounding less horrible, but somehow, I forgot who I'm talking to and didn't give a second thought to my choice of formulation.
Her sparkling eyes and smiling lips get washed over by a wave of disappointment. As if I've just ruined her whole day, that she'll never be happy again. Well fuck me.
"Really?"
It's terrible.
"I mean, it's a bit too much, don't you think?"
More like too little.
She smiles at me again, putting them down.
"That's okay, we'll find something."
She starts throwing clothes and colors left and right, holding up pieces that are competing in which one that can put the most disgusted look on my face. I feel so bad for her.
"Scarlet I give up," she finally says, fifteen minutes later, and bumps down on her bed. I sit down next to her, at a loss for words.
"It's fine. I'm just impossible when it comes to clothes."
She swallows, fiddling her hands. "It's no big deal, really."
Looking up, she smiles a little.
"I just.... I wanna make this work, I thought finding some common ground or.... showing that I know you, even if it's as superficial as just clothes for now, would do that."
Well.... fuck me. I'm a horrible person. She was just trying to be nice and all I did was to give her a dictionary with synonyms for terrible.
I sigh.
"Just because you don't know my style, at least not yet, doesn't mean we can't make it work. I think.... I think we need to stop seeing our differences as a problem hindering a possible relationship. We don't need a common ground or starting point, we just need a common aim. We both wanna make this work."
