Stories under the Velvet Sky

Chapter Fourteen: Cool, Crash, Cold

I swear, when we get home and out of the public eye, I’m going to strangle the two of them with duct tape and my Uncle’s paperwork. Then I will take a knife, slice open their stomachs, and light their insides on fire.

And then I will watch them burn.

It was St. Valentine’s Day, which also apparently is obligatory ‘take a member of the opposite gender out to dinner day’. I don't think I will ever understand the concept of this holiday... I mean, what's the point of it? Besides pouring your heart out on a silver platter and giving fodder to Hollywood for romantic comedies?

Note to self: write a romantic comedy at some point.

Currently the two men in question, well I hesitate to call them men, but that's technically what they were, had decided to force me to dress up in fancy clothing, and drag me to a pompous restaurant in the nicer part of town. It was some expensive Italian place that a friend of my Uncle's had recommended to him.

And despite my loud and fitful protests, against my state of dress and where we were going, I had been dragged upstairs, told to dress nicely or beware their wrath, and forced into a luxury vehicle now driving to the morons' intended destination.

If you really want to know, I had ended up picking a long, sleeveless lavender dress, silver-colored two-inch heels, and ended up wearing a little bit of lip gloss. My lips were going to be oh so very chapped by the end of the evening, and it wasn't even worth the effort, but according to the stupid rules they had set up, if I wanted to eat, I had to look presentable, and presentable meant at least minimal make-up.

At least I liked the shoes. I didn't care for the dress, or the gloss, but the shoes were nice. I had a thing for shopping for them, so I had a mini-collection of them in my closet. I may not be able to afford car insurance, but a monthly allowance enabled me to go out from time to time.

When I wasn't buying video games instead... My two joys in life- video games and shoes. Ahahaha, I feel so contradictory right now.

I was moping in the back seat of the car, arms crossed and hunched over, glaring at the back of the front passenger seat. I would have clenched my fists too, if doing so wouldn't have set my right hand searing up my nerves in a blazing fire of pain and tender bones. As it was, I could only tighten my left hand in frustration. I hated dressing up. The clothes were restrictive, and no-one ever seemed to notice if I did anyway. At school you could either wear the uniform or play dress up, and a lot of the girls took the opportunity to look like sluts. And by most, I mean especially Sarah.

Hence why I despised wearing dresses. Most showed off a bit too much skin for my taste. No cleavage, I don't want you falling out of the inconveniently-sized-for-someone-with-bigger-breasts slots that this dress has. Not that I had tiny breasts; it was just that the makers of said dress had assumed that they were making a size seven dress for someone with a bloody double-d cup. Last I had checked, I was skinny enough that having boobs that big would look so very, very fake.

Streetlights turned into streaks as the car flew past them on the brick roads, passing businesses, markets, and restaurant after busy restaurant as my Uncle made his way towards the diner of our choice. What I supposed was classy music played softly over the radio, filling the car with the sound of strings and woodwinds. Adrian was chatting about something or the other with Eric, while I was trying to tune everything- including them- out.

I didn't want to go out for dinner to some fancy place where the waiter's would probably follow the snobby cliché, where I would be judged on my appearance and behavior, where every movement I made, and expression that followed, would be analyzed, deconstructed, and gossiped about over lunch the next day.