Why don't you get a taste?
Golden girl Alison Rivers has it all: brains, looks, money, a father who adores her, and any man she wants... Or so she thought.
When she sets her eyes on Lorenzo Visconti, her academy's Italian, irresistible principal, sh...
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There are many theories surrounding the phenomenon of dreams and their functions.
Some affirm that dreams are a reflection of what a person truly wants or needs, others state that they are a way for our brain to analyze events that happened that same day, reliving them in a different way in order to try out different outcomes. Basically committing mistakes, but without any consequences.
These are only two of the numerous speculations that have been made throughout the years.
In my situation, the dream that was rudely interrupted by the shrilling sound of my alarm was both a fantastic enactment of something that I deeply desired and a recreation of a past event, though it followed a different course of action.
More precisely, I ended up bent over Mr. Visconti's desk, my skirt hiked up around my waist and his rough hand coming down onto my soft skin, leaving a red print on it.
I wondered what it'd take for him to lose his cool and punish a student corporally. Probably nothing, since it was most likely illegal, but I could still try.
I got up and yawned as I directed myself towards my en-suite bathroom, executing my morning routine which consisted in: peeing, washing myself, putting on make-up, brushing my hair. It continued in my closet, where I slipped on my tailored school uniform and then ended in the dining room, in which I had breakfast while chatting with my dad.
Victoria, being the useless person she is, always slept in, though I can't complain much since at least I don't have to see her.
"Let's get going, baby." Daddy fixed his tie and then slid his feet into a pair of elegant leather shoes, tying the dark and thin laces.
As I always did every morning, I huffed in dismay, not wanting to leave the comfort of my house. But then again, I had plans for today.
Once we were in his car, silence ensued.
"You're quiet." He noticed, actually startling me and making me snap out of my reverie when his voice resonated throughout the car.
Our car rides are usually characterized by fun, mindless chatting that put the both of us in a good mood, so that we both lose our grumpiness and start the day with a positive attitude. His employees should really thank me sometime.
"Yeah, I'm just really tired and I don't want to go to school." I lied. In reality I was thinking of a way to get Mr. Visconti to punish me, however he pleased.
My mind drifted from my hot principal to Mrs. Lilia, who had even more reasons to hate me now. I still had no idea what he said to her in order to make her cry, and I really didn't want to find out by putting up with whatever she was going to throw at me this time.
