..::.. Crimson Sky ..::..
You think I'm not, but I am
You think I can't, but I can
You think I won't, but I will
You think
I don't care what you think
I am me
..::.. Chapter Four ..::..
Wendy and I spend the whole day marching up and down the little shops with the tiny windows displaying everything from the cutesy little tea pots to the big brands like St. John. Somehow, Wendy knew every single one of these gals that sat behind the counter all day, filing their nails and talking sweet Italian to their sinewy boyfriends. And as I sat in a swirling chair sipping on something called "Stars of Milan" from a classic croissant café just around the corner, I waited outside those circular white doors that would fling themselves open to reveal a hopefully very magnificent Wendy.
We had been touring these blocks for the third time, and she still hasn't picked an outfit, just one little outfit! Actually, I shouldn't be complaining, I got lots of things myself, seven decent shirts, five pairs of sexy pants, three cut slit skirts, and the list goes on and on and on. Plus I ordered an old fashion hoop skirt like in Gone with the Wind; being a prefect, I knew of the up-coming December events at Hogwarts, which would be some kind of a very formal ball, so to speak. I got to stand on a stage thing and the lady measured my sizes and everything, and I also got to pick the color of satin it would be made from, which was a purple shade of burgundy. It's suppose to come in a week or so, they have to send in the order to have it made because Venice is very famous for their old fashion renaissance parties or whatnot, I wouldn't know the difference, I just want to look nice, along with daring and sexy of course.
I sucked my drink empty and impatiently looked at my split-ends to pass the time. Twenty minutes, no, thirty since she went into that dratchet dressing room with two armfuls of clothes, surely she has found something by now.
I took a sorrowful glance into the round bronze mirror by the window; I looked so different than I remembered last time, has it been that long? I thought back to past summers in which I spent at home, wearing my jammies and watching TV. I was such a kid, I had no outside contact, no neighborhood girlfriends to have sleepovers with, and I was pathetic. But I look at me now, with my shiny hair pulled back into a high ponytail and the ends curling a bit past the middle of my back, I had never cut it. My hollow eyes that said I had died long time ago were rimmed in a thin line of black, and with foundation that hid the darkened shadows underneath my eyes. I look at the low cropped white top I wore, with the slutty little pants and purple thong that showed a little, was this me?
I traced my left cheek to tell myself it was really me, and I nearly flipped out to see someone gazing at me from the window outside. He was haughty and had an evil smile to his lips, somehow, for an Italian, his skin shone like icy snow, pale, yet, sexy. His face structure seemed so familiar, with the high thin cheekbones, strong jaw line, and icy blue-gray eyes that said all in his little black heart. I knew who this was, only one person has eyes with a malevolence glint like him and highlighter bleached hair, Draco Malfoy.
I stood up, and returned his penetrating stare that showed curiosity but no surprise. Silently, I walked over to the glass, swaying my hips like I did last night. I was no longer afraid, no longer scared, there was no hatred in my heart for him; hell, I don't even have a heart, because I threw it out the window last night. I reached up and placed my hand on the cool glass where his hand was. All the while I had a hazy tint to my eyes and a pout to my lips.
He mouthed something, I didn't know what. So instead of figuring out what he was saying, I simply strutted my skimpy little ass down to the entrance and stepped outside, only to find that three girls were flocking around him, squealing random stuff in Italian as they pointed to things in the windows. He was still smiling slyly at me when one of the girls cooed at him and he told them something in Italian that caused those three to jump into a store.
He had a flaring shirt on with leather pants on and he crossed over to me in two steps. His arm entwined around my waist as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "You look good."
I inhaled his scent, something evil, yet sexy. His hand slid down my butt and then back up and he held me there, in the middle of the street, and for a split second, everything felt right. I was going to step away from him, but if I was going to be a slut, I might as well be one all the way.
You think I'm not, but I am
You think I can't, but I can
You think I won't, but I will
You think
I don't care what you think
I am me
..::.. Chapter Four ..::..
Wendy and I spend the whole day marching up and down the little shops with the tiny windows displaying everything from the cutesy little tea pots to the big brands like St. John. Somehow, Wendy knew every single one of these gals that sat behind the counter all day, filing their nails and talking sweet Italian to their sinewy boyfriends. And as I sat in a swirling chair sipping on something called "Stars of Milan" from a classic croissant café just around the corner, I waited outside those circular white doors that would fling themselves open to reveal a hopefully very magnificent Wendy.
We had been touring these blocks for the third time, and she still hasn't picked an outfit, just one little outfit! Actually, I shouldn't be complaining, I got lots of things myself, seven decent shirts, five pairs of sexy pants, three cut slit skirts, and the list goes on and on and on. Plus I ordered an old fashion hoop skirt like in Gone with the Wind; being a prefect, I knew of the up-coming December events at Hogwarts, which would be some kind of a very formal ball, so to speak. I got to stand on a stage thing and the lady measured my sizes and everything, and I also got to pick the color of satin it would be made from, which was a purple shade of burgundy. It's suppose to come in a week or so, they have to send in the order to have it made because Venice is very famous for their old fashion renaissance parties or whatnot, I wouldn't know the difference, I just want to look nice, along with daring and sexy of course.
I sucked my drink empty and impatiently looked at my split-ends to pass the time. Twenty minutes, no, thirty since she went into that dratchet dressing room with two armfuls of clothes, surely she has found something by now.
I took a sorrowful glance into the round bronze mirror by the window; I looked so different than I remembered last time, has it been that long? I thought back to past summers in which I spent at home, wearing my jammies and watching TV. I was such a kid, I had no outside contact, no neighborhood girlfriends to have sleepovers with, and I was pathetic. But I look at me now, with my shiny hair pulled back into a high ponytail and the ends curling a bit past the middle of my back, I had never cut it. My hollow eyes that said I had died long time ago were rimmed in a thin line of black, and with foundation that hid the darkened shadows underneath my eyes. I look at the low cropped white top I wore, with the slutty little pants and purple thong that showed a little, was this me?
I traced my left cheek to tell myself it was really me, and I nearly flipped out to see someone gazing at me from the window outside. He was haughty and had an evil smile to his lips, somehow, for an Italian, his skin shone like icy snow, pale, yet, sexy. His face structure seemed so familiar, with the high thin cheekbones, strong jaw line, and icy blue-gray eyes that said all in his little black heart. I knew who this was, only one person has eyes with a malevolence glint like him and highlighter bleached hair, Draco Malfoy.
I stood up, and returned his penetrating stare that showed curiosity but no surprise. Silently, I walked over to the glass, swaying my hips like I did last night. I was no longer afraid, no longer scared, there was no hatred in my heart for him; hell, I don't even have a heart, because I threw it out the window last night. I reached up and placed my hand on the cool glass where his hand was. All the while I had a hazy tint to my eyes and a pout to my lips.
He mouthed something, I didn't know what. So instead of figuring out what he was saying, I simply strutted my skimpy little ass down to the entrance and stepped outside, only to find that three girls were flocking around him, squealing random stuff in Italian as they pointed to things in the windows. He was still smiling slyly at me when one of the girls cooed at him and he told them something in Italian that caused those three to jump into a store.
He had a flaring shirt on with leather pants on and he crossed over to me in two steps. His arm entwined around my waist as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "You look good."
I inhaled his scent, something evil, yet sexy. His hand slid down my butt and then back up and he held me there, in the middle of the street, and for a split second, everything felt right. I was going to step away from him, but if I was going to be a slut, I might as well be one all the way.