A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 42 | willfully saying goodbye

There was Dwain, Liam, Brielle, Leonard, Jana, Tasha, Camilla, Perez, and house personnel, they were the family I always dreamt of having.

But in less than a month, all of them would be history and our good moments spent together shall be forgotten.

They gave me a different angle to see things; that not all wealthy people were the same, they varied from the good, the bad, and the ugly, and throughout my stay with them, they were a good example of the good.

They made me forget about my identity, an identity that was yet to be known by me and the rest of society.

There wasn't progress in my quest to find out who the true me was, however, I could still hear that little voice within, patting me on the back as a motivating factor to keep striving in hope and faith.

I twirled on the bed countless times, tangling my feet in the freshness of the blue sheets, and snuggled my nose into the heart-shaped white pillows to breathe in the strong manly scent floating around them.

The lavender, cheery and mint fragrance pulled me deep into their comfort, softening a greater portion of my worries.

This day came along with depressing issues that crumbled my peace of mind.

Even with a firm grip and a squeeze of these inanimate objects in my arms, they weren't going to make up my world, my reality outside Horton's mansion, the introverted potato right from playschool.

I snapped my eyes open and rose to a sitting position, letting the dark blue blanket slide from my chest and crumple around my waist.

Hasty winds lingered on my exposed shoulders, sending cold chills down my spine and it didn't cease creeping to my collar bones, freezing down to my cleavage.

Its aftermath on my wakefulness could be compared to a pinch of salt being dropped in an ocean, wherein the ocean would be my worry.

The screeching halt of the wooden door stole my attention and my eyes sauntered from the shiny brown ceiling to the calm banging of the door against the walls of Dwain's room.

Dwain's healthy thighs looked at me.

Their muscular nature printed underneath his wet and transparent pink shorts which rested at a distal length from his knee, folding in dangerous slits as water drew patterns down his tanned legs.

Dwain was dressed in pink?

His attire stifled a breath in my chest.

"Something unusual on my face?"

He furrowed his moist brows and scrunched his lips to grease the tip of his nose, staring down at me with bulging eyes that suffocated me in harsh laughs and threw me on my back to the bed.

"I can't get enough of that smile. "

He closed his eyes for a brief second and shook his head afterward, droplets of water dribbling down his throat as his cheeks deepened into baby dimples.

"Your dimples, " his pupils grew wide at my words, and a giggle halted between my lips.

C'mon, Dwain couldn't be this fine in only a pair of shorts, flip-flops, and a rock-hard topless chest.

The smile on his lips, the glow in his sea-blue eyes, and the smooth nature of his just-from-the-pool hair made me feel things I'd never felt before.

"Your dimples are manly."

His mouth dropped barely open at my miserable attempt to compliment him.

Why didn't I keep quiet?

The situation was embarrassing.