Words We Live By.
I Like My Coffee Black, Just Like My Metal.
“Ayden, it’s time for school…”
David’s soft whispers woke me as he gently shook me. Rolling over, I mumbled some form of a question, asking why he was in my room.
“Lisa told me to get you up because she was running late, and Dad’s crew left or Siberia last night. Com’on, Love. We’ve got an empty house for a week, but now we have to go to school.”
He straightened up, mussed up my freshly colored burgundy locks, and left. I could hear his naked feet padding down the hall, his bracelet that his birth mother had given him as it clinked along the banister. I could visualize him, softly swinging his hips, tapping his fingers, glancing over into our living room, below.
Our house was three levels, but only the first was full. The second cut off maybe three quarters from the front wall, the third the same from the back. We had no doors, just curtains that separated areas. Our rooms were on the third level, with the living room and office on the second. There was nothing defining the living room, but the office had some Indian linen stretched across to create a ceiling, and drapes to cut it off from the rest of the level. A narrow, shallow staircase led to the bedrooms from the back corner of the living room.
Yawning, I sat up. With a glance around, I reached for my clothes, hanging by the foot of my bed. Tights on first, a neutral gray. Next was my dress- little blue flowers covering a darker blue solid. It laced up in the back, to fit any waistline correctly, and off-white pear buttons did up the front. It was one of those cuts that looked horrid and shapeless on a hanger, but fit every curve perfectly when you put it on. Next came my pearls, which I wore every day, in memory of my grandma who gave them to me. With a few tugs of a brush through my hair, I was done. My black cowboy boots clinked as I skipped both flights of stairs and into the kitchen, where I slide onto a bar stool with a jingle of my bangles. David handed me a mug of tea, perfectly fixed with just the right amount of milk and sugar. I grabbed a pear from the basket, and my bookbag, and we were off. I do my makeup in the car, on the way to school. I hate it- always putting it off as long as possible. People expect me to be the most gorgeous girl around, with my mother being Lisa Hanlore, but even she’s got a pretty average face. She made it where she is with her amazing body, but even that isn’t entirely natural. What hollywood body is these days, anyway? She exercises like it’ll make her immortal, and she’s had a few surgeries to get it where it is. But no-one sees that. They see her as the standards, and expect me to live up to them.
Walking through the halls at school is one thing I most highly despise. It’s like walking a runway- one false move, and your laughing stock. But on a runway, there aren’t five thousand other obstacles to work around. Not that I like them any. I’d never do that. I just want to be out of the spotlight. A designer is pretty much my dream. Still known, not gonna disappoint anyone, but out of the spotlight. When I’m bored in class, like now, I glance around. The jeans the girls at the front of the class are wearing are icky- over-designed. They have rhinestones all over the back pocket, trying to look rich and dazzling- or maybe just trying to draw eyes to their asses. But no matter the goal, they end up looking cheap, and make me want to gag. The cut may be nice, but that’s it. Their stitching is wide, and thick, bright white. Seams that come together at the crotch draw attention, and scream “slut!”
But these girls are better than some- even though they failed, they tried. Some girls, like the two at the back, wearing old tee’s they’ve likely had since eighth grade, and sweat pants, don’t try. They may look ‘hot’, because their pants ride up their asses, or their running shorts are two short, or their undershirts need undershirts, but to other girls, they just look like cheap whores.
When I get home, I couldn’t care less. I hate school. I’ll sit down with David in an hour or two, and we’ll do our homework before calling for chinese, vegetarian, of course, and watch a movie. It’ll be a nice end. But now, its all I can do to stumble through the door and fall onto the chaise lounge in the entry. My bag falls to my side, on the stone floor, and is slid off my arm. My senses tell me David’s put it away, along with his, and the chaise sinks down next to my legs. I hear the door slam shut, and his hands are pushing around the muscles on my back, easing the knots of stress from my body. I move my arms up and prop my head on them, and thank him. Already, I feel much better. Within minutes, I’m back in an upright state, and we transfer ourselves out of the entry.
I pull myself onto the island as he pours himself a cup of juice. The bright whites everywhere, like the tiles I’ve seated myself on, and the ones of the floor, make his hair particularly blonde. Even at this height advantage, he’s a decent three inches taller than me, and as he positions himself between my legs, I find myself looking up to reach his lips. It’s nice to have the house empty- we’ll be able to do whatever we want. And that’s not always pg 13…
David’s soft whispers woke me as he gently shook me. Rolling over, I mumbled some form of a question, asking why he was in my room.
“Lisa told me to get you up because she was running late, and Dad’s crew left or Siberia last night. Com’on, Love. We’ve got an empty house for a week, but now we have to go to school.”
He straightened up, mussed up my freshly colored burgundy locks, and left. I could hear his naked feet padding down the hall, his bracelet that his birth mother had given him as it clinked along the banister. I could visualize him, softly swinging his hips, tapping his fingers, glancing over into our living room, below.
Our house was three levels, but only the first was full. The second cut off maybe three quarters from the front wall, the third the same from the back. We had no doors, just curtains that separated areas. Our rooms were on the third level, with the living room and office on the second. There was nothing defining the living room, but the office had some Indian linen stretched across to create a ceiling, and drapes to cut it off from the rest of the level. A narrow, shallow staircase led to the bedrooms from the back corner of the living room.
Yawning, I sat up. With a glance around, I reached for my clothes, hanging by the foot of my bed. Tights on first, a neutral gray. Next was my dress- little blue flowers covering a darker blue solid. It laced up in the back, to fit any waistline correctly, and off-white pear buttons did up the front. It was one of those cuts that looked horrid and shapeless on a hanger, but fit every curve perfectly when you put it on. Next came my pearls, which I wore every day, in memory of my grandma who gave them to me. With a few tugs of a brush through my hair, I was done. My black cowboy boots clinked as I skipped both flights of stairs and into the kitchen, where I slide onto a bar stool with a jingle of my bangles. David handed me a mug of tea, perfectly fixed with just the right amount of milk and sugar. I grabbed a pear from the basket, and my bookbag, and we were off. I do my makeup in the car, on the way to school. I hate it- always putting it off as long as possible. People expect me to be the most gorgeous girl around, with my mother being Lisa Hanlore, but even she’s got a pretty average face. She made it where she is with her amazing body, but even that isn’t entirely natural. What hollywood body is these days, anyway? She exercises like it’ll make her immortal, and she’s had a few surgeries to get it where it is. But no-one sees that. They see her as the standards, and expect me to live up to them.
Walking through the halls at school is one thing I most highly despise. It’s like walking a runway- one false move, and your laughing stock. But on a runway, there aren’t five thousand other obstacles to work around. Not that I like them any. I’d never do that. I just want to be out of the spotlight. A designer is pretty much my dream. Still known, not gonna disappoint anyone, but out of the spotlight. When I’m bored in class, like now, I glance around. The jeans the girls at the front of the class are wearing are icky- over-designed. They have rhinestones all over the back pocket, trying to look rich and dazzling- or maybe just trying to draw eyes to their asses. But no matter the goal, they end up looking cheap, and make me want to gag. The cut may be nice, but that’s it. Their stitching is wide, and thick, bright white. Seams that come together at the crotch draw attention, and scream “slut!”
But these girls are better than some- even though they failed, they tried. Some girls, like the two at the back, wearing old tee’s they’ve likely had since eighth grade, and sweat pants, don’t try. They may look ‘hot’, because their pants ride up their asses, or their running shorts are two short, or their undershirts need undershirts, but to other girls, they just look like cheap whores.
When I get home, I couldn’t care less. I hate school. I’ll sit down with David in an hour or two, and we’ll do our homework before calling for chinese, vegetarian, of course, and watch a movie. It’ll be a nice end. But now, its all I can do to stumble through the door and fall onto the chaise lounge in the entry. My bag falls to my side, on the stone floor, and is slid off my arm. My senses tell me David’s put it away, along with his, and the chaise sinks down next to my legs. I hear the door slam shut, and his hands are pushing around the muscles on my back, easing the knots of stress from my body. I move my arms up and prop my head on them, and thank him. Already, I feel much better. Within minutes, I’m back in an upright state, and we transfer ourselves out of the entry.
I pull myself onto the island as he pours himself a cup of juice. The bright whites everywhere, like the tiles I’ve seated myself on, and the ones of the floor, make his hair particularly blonde. Even at this height advantage, he’s a decent three inches taller than me, and as he positions himself between my legs, I find myself looking up to reach his lips. It’s nice to have the house empty- we’ll be able to do whatever we want. And that’s not always pg 13…