Used
Summary: coz it was just sex and it didn't matter anymore coz now she's far from innocent and caring isn't her job anymore.
She pulled the silver zipper of the dress up right to the top.
The dress was pretty, she mused to herself, flicking her wrist out, then twisting it around gently in small circles.
The dress was new and she had bought it solely for the formal occasion, which had taken place in the large ballroom of the mansion she was currently residing in.
She had paid a pretty penny for this dress and now she would most probably throw it out or something like that.
She had fallen in love with this dress the single moment that she had seen it in the window of the expensive boutique somewhere in New York, when she had gone with Stacy four or five days prior to the event.
It was completely black. The top half was strapless and had a silky feel to it and was tight and clung to her upper-half for what seemed like dear life. The bottom half was made of many layers of net-like materials like Organza and other similar things.
She had been used, she knew that for a fact and this wasn't exactly the first time it had happened. In fact, this type of thing happened to her on an almost weekly basis.
She had been trying to avoid thinking; just so she wouldn't have to remember the painful memories of the mostly nameless and faceless one night stands she had had at parties or at clubs.
She blindly ran her fingers through what had once been an elegant up-do, pulling all the bobby pins out, gently placing them on the net-like skirt of her dress.
She cocked her head to her left slightly – only slightly enough so that she could just make out the most probably naked man sleeping under the heavy dark blue comforter – and smoothed her long highlighted hair out, running elegantly long and thin fingers through it.
She looked over her shoulder again, running one of her hands through the sleeping blond man's hair, quickly scooping all the bobby pins in one hand and walking barefoot into the adjoined bathroom.
She brushed her layered side fringe out and raked it back, fastening it with some of the sandy-coloured bobby pins.
She threw the rest of the unused pins into one of the drawers, before walking back out and sitting out on the edge of the soft bed.
One golden tanned leg was lifted slightly into the air to hook over the other as shiny bright pink pumps were pushed onto small feet.
Matching pink purse was taken off the polished oak drawers and the chained silver strap was flung over a bare bony shoulder.
She stood on slightly wobbly legs, collecting herself before she bent over to kiss the cheek of the slumbering blond man.
She walked out of the room with her head held high.
…she wouldn't let it happen again…she wouldn't ever let herself be used like that again.
She was Trish Stratus - no longer Trash Stratus, the bottom-feeding hoebag - and it was finally over...