Status: Finished & Awaiting a Sequel.
You Can Be My Gorgeous Nightmare.
I Still Feel Dead
48 hours later and the only time I got up was to go to the bathroom. I didn't eat; the feeling of hunger eventually subsided. I didn't shower; I eventually adjusted to the grimy, nasty feeling. I never got up; who needs exercise? Everything I need is within reach. Laptop, headphones, and the TV remote.
I was in the middle of another nap when Monte opened the door. "Alright, I've given you enough moping time! It's getting to be -- good god! What is that smell? Gabriella?" Monte neared my bed, closely surveying the damage done.
He grabbed a mirror off the wall and put it in front of me. "Look at yourself, Gab...what happened?" He asked, sounding disappointed.
I looked a wreck, I really did. Deep blue-purple circles under my eyes, hair greasy and a stray. Not to mention my pale, bony face, or my ashen skin. Or my dull, seemingly lifeless eyes. I looked...dead. Good. Always look how you feel.
As weirdly proud of my appearance as I am, I looked away, partly in shame. Monte reflected that same feeling.
"Gabriella, get up. Come on." Monte took my arms and made me stand. But he made a mistake in letting me go, because my jelly legs gave out and I collapsed. My brain felt like jelly as well. Too much so to even put up a fight. "Uhhhhh." Monte grunted, picking me up and carrying me to the bathroom. "First things first, shower. Monte looked me up and down. "Okay, maybe a bath." He waited, looking at me expectantly. Oh. He wants me to take my clothes off. Oh, fuck it. I stripped down while he filled up the tub.
Surprisingly, he wasn't the least bit a douchebag about me being nude. He didn't stare of try to cop a feel. He just lifted me up and put me in the bathtub.
The hot water was a little foreign and odd, but I eventually got used to it. It actually brought some sense and feeling back to my mind and body.
Soon, I was all clean. Something I didn't feel too bad about.
I finally was able to walk on my own. Which is good for getting dressed. Monte picked out a pink blouse and some white skinny jeans, with some gladiator sandals. I think he was trying to make my skin appear to have more color by contrast. And it kind of worked.
Next, my hair and makeup, which, according to Monte, was vital for looking alive. He straightened my hair and covered up the bags under my eyes the best he could.
By the end, I did look good. But I still didn't feel good. It doesn't matter how I look on the outside, it's about how I feel on the inside. And I still feel dead.
I was in the middle of another nap when Monte opened the door. "Alright, I've given you enough moping time! It's getting to be -- good god! What is that smell? Gabriella?" Monte neared my bed, closely surveying the damage done.
He grabbed a mirror off the wall and put it in front of me. "Look at yourself, Gab...what happened?" He asked, sounding disappointed.
I looked a wreck, I really did. Deep blue-purple circles under my eyes, hair greasy and a stray. Not to mention my pale, bony face, or my ashen skin. Or my dull, seemingly lifeless eyes. I looked...dead. Good. Always look how you feel.
As weirdly proud of my appearance as I am, I looked away, partly in shame. Monte reflected that same feeling.
"Gabriella, get up. Come on." Monte took my arms and made me stand. But he made a mistake in letting me go, because my jelly legs gave out and I collapsed. My brain felt like jelly as well. Too much so to even put up a fight. "Uhhhhh." Monte grunted, picking me up and carrying me to the bathroom. "First things first, shower. Monte looked me up and down. "Okay, maybe a bath." He waited, looking at me expectantly. Oh. He wants me to take my clothes off. Oh, fuck it. I stripped down while he filled up the tub.
Surprisingly, he wasn't the least bit a douchebag about me being nude. He didn't stare of try to cop a feel. He just lifted me up and put me in the bathtub.
The hot water was a little foreign and odd, but I eventually got used to it. It actually brought some sense and feeling back to my mind and body.
Soon, I was all clean. Something I didn't feel too bad about.
I finally was able to walk on my own. Which is good for getting dressed. Monte picked out a pink blouse and some white skinny jeans, with some gladiator sandals. I think he was trying to make my skin appear to have more color by contrast. And it kind of worked.
Next, my hair and makeup, which, according to Monte, was vital for looking alive. He straightened my hair and covered up the bags under my eyes the best he could.
By the end, I did look good. But I still didn't feel good. It doesn't matter how I look on the outside, it's about how I feel on the inside. And I still feel dead.