Wicked Love | √

Four

I spin around on my small leather stool in front of my white vanity. I come to a sudden stop to look at myself in the mirror and lean it to inspect the red clay mask drying on my fair skin.

"Are you sure this actually does anything?" I ask Elizabeth skeptically as my fingers tap tentatively against the solidifying clay. I've never been a big facemask person as the idea of slapping gunk onto my face doesn't sound appeal me much, but as usual Elizabeth dragged me into her latest new find.

She's been going through a major skincare obsession lately and forces me to play along with every new product she finds claiming it will "change my life".

My life has yet to be changed, but I can't deny my skin does have a certain glow from all the products she's been throwing my way.

I rotate in the chair to see her lying on my dusty rose duvet cover and her long black hair splayed out like a wild crown above her head. She turns her head to look at me and if her face could move more I know she would be glaring at me.

"Yes James," she groans mostly annoyed by my constant cynicism. "It's detoxing our skin and helping to minimize the appearance of our pores," she clarifies as if it's completely self-explanatory.

"You don't even have pores," I tell her with pursed lips. Elizabeth has the most beautiful dark skin that is always blemish free and radiant and smooth as butter. If I didn't love her so much I'd find it annoying.

"Exactly!" she exclaims as her hands drop loudly against my bed. "That's because of the masks," she tells me pointedly.

I roll my eyes. "Don't get anything on my comforter," I grumble as I lift my legs to place my heels on the edge of my brass footboard.

"I'm an expert. Of course I won't," she says smugly as she sits up and turns to face me. "Plus I would never want to ruin your perfect room," she adds with a touch of mockery and a roll of her golden brown eyes.

My hands fall into my lap. "It's not perfect," I argue though as my eyes dart around my room I even know not one picture or piece of clothing is out of place.

"You make your bed every single day," she tells me as if I don't already know.

"That's just a habit," I shrug casually, but it's the truth. I may have grown up with a maid, but I was raised to keep a tidy room. I learned quickly cleanliness kept my father from yelling at me as often even though Aiden's room was always a pigsty and he never got in trouble.

"You dust weekly. Your clothes are organized by style and length," she lists lifting her long manicured nails. "And I swear your color coded dresser would make Marie Kondo orgasm," she finishes making me laugh at her vulgar comment.

I let out a sigh as I pull the scrunchie from my dark hair letting it fall over one shoulder but making sure my cloth headband is stopping any hair from falling into my face. Elizabeth is the complete opposite of me in every single way. She's loud and in your face and hilarious and everyone's friend. She's sunshine and optimism and I'm cloudy skies and realism.

Her cousin Annabelle and I instantly connected when we met freshman year as roommates, and when she introduced me to Elizabeth I was worried she would brush me to the side like most girls have in my past when meeting me. I come off a bit harsh and overly focused when it comes to my life, but the moment I met Elizabeth she helped to pull me from it and expand my horizons.

She pushes me from my comfort zone and reminds me at times that there's more to life than studying. I so easily get caught up in my one singular goal I can forget to have fun and to embrace the part of college I am so quick to shove and lock away.

"Okay so I'm a bit of a clean freak," I admit with a lift of my hand. "I like being neat and organized," I tell her a bit defensively.

Her mask cracks a touch as she smiles brightly. "And that's why I love you," she sings swinging her legs around so she's on her stomach and leaning on her elbows in front of me.