Foreign

35

The crew of stylists, a hairdresser, and a makeup artist filled up the loft. All taking turns to doll up Havana.

Rings were put on her fingers, at the same time the inner part of her lips being swept with a purplish color, and then a pink and gold gloss drenched her lips. They applied heaps of mascara, added on some false eyelashes too. A wing eyeliner, her eyes looked bigger than normal.

Rush Valmont, a guard that was hired to watch after the young women, had taken notice of how ghostly she looked. Pale, too skinny, a blank stare on her face. He was worried about her, but even he didn't know who to turn to for help.

The girl had no one.

The man who was supposed to be her lover was getting married. He needed to turn the press and the brides family towards the wedding. To make sure everything looked perfect.

Rush just couldn't wrap his head around it. He couldn't understand how a good young girl, a truly sweet and kind girl, like Havana could let a man ruin her life like this. Because once she steps foot into that venue where the wedding will be held, her reputation will be completely destroyed and there will be no going back.

She was a good kid, he could tell by the way she talked to him. Made sure he wasn't idly standing around. She always made sure he felt at home, asked him about his day. And she actually cared about what he said.

He watched as they curled the tips of her hair, the perfect black curl dropping back down to frame her face.

There, he thought, she truly is a doll of his.

The hairstylist grabbed two pink pearl barrettes and clipped the front of her hair to the side by her ear. "She's finished!" They all called out, just as they finished strapping her in tall white heels that buckled at her thin ankle.

Even though, she stood up gracefully and thanked everyone around with a glamorous smile.

Rush couldn't deny one thing. Even if what Dante Moreau was doing was horribly wrong, and disgusting, and disturbing....he sort of understood as he watched Havana Sanchez smile brightly, laughing as she blushed as the crew praised her for her beauty.

Rush Valmont could sort of-barely-kind of, understand why Dante Moreau was ruining this dolls life.

Havana walked towards him, "Aren't your feet going to kill you in those things?" The guard asked curiously.

She smiled, "I put on some numbing cream. A trick my friend taught me." She answered in a light friendly tone, Rush hooked her arm with his. "But now I can't feel my hands either. I don't think it's the creams fault though." She muttered the last part to herself.

Rush guided her into the car they'd be driving, and opened the door for her. Havana's bell like voice said a thank you as she climbed into the car.

The drive was silent as opposed to the music that played. Rush's eyes glanced back to Havana anxiously, worried about that depressing blankness of her face. She was completely stoic and emotionless.

"You look gorgeous, Havana." Rush complimented, hoping it would brighten her up. She smiled, brightly and stunningly.

And for a moment Rush felt important. "Thank you. I love this dress, I'd never in a million years think I'd be able to wear an Alexander McQueen dress," She looked down at the dress, her painted fingers gently fondling with the curves of the dress. "You look really handsome too, Rush." The man smiled back at her.

He only wore a simple all black suit, he didn't find anything dashing about it earlier but now that Havana said it his ego went a notch up.