"A tale of obsession through the eyes of a fanatic."
Every tomorrow is a bold question mark for the motherless child Ivy Valentine. But one constant in her life that always offered smiles and hope was purple music. So one day, she decides to write...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~*~
7:15 PM
In a trembling panic, I stripped out of my business attire and threw on some black leggings and a long, gray blouse. Once I slipped into my Steve Madden ankle boots, and shimmied on my jacket, I felt almost complete, but something was still missing.
Staring at my freckled face in the mirror, I began to despise myself. How does a 19-year-old girl not know how to put on make-up? Doing all that I can, I brushed my lashes with a mascara wand, and smoothed cranberry gloss on my lips. Still not exquisite. But better than nothing.
Just as I was capping my gloss, the house phone started ringing, so I jumped in the kitchen to answer. "Hello?"
"You forget you have an anxious man waiting downstairs?"
"No," I smiled. "I'm sorry, I was just about to head down."
"You getting cute for me?"
"Mm...trying."
"You don't have to try so hard, beautiful. Just hurry up."
Blushing, I squeaked out a small, "Okay."
We hung up, and instead of rushing out the door, I was back in the mirror, fixating on my hair now. My natural, loose curls were looking tired and crazy, so I tried gelling it back into a bun. But I wasn't happy with the end result. So, now my hair looked worse. "Ugh!"
A few hair-do's later, there was knocking at my door.
When I went to check the peephole, I couldn't see a thing. "Who is it?"
"Uhh...Prince Charming."
Breathe, breathe, breathe. I pulled back the door to see his face masked by an abundance of red roses. "Aww!"
"Aww," he teased, handing them over. "Can I come in, slow poke?"
Tipping my nose into the rose petals, I stepped back, allowing him to come into my little apartment. It felt even smaller with him standing in the middle of it. Prince's frame may have been petite, but his presence stood larger than life.
"This is nice."
"Thanks. I like your outfit." The orange tailored suit, accented in purple, looked good on him, and probably only him.
"Thank you." And he spun to face me, dipping his eyes to my boots, then back up to my wild hair. "What's going on, pretty mama?" he asked, coming closer with a chuckle.
"It's not cooperating," I pouted, and he was behind me now, pulling back my hair.
