Angel's Hero

Chapter 3

"You did not!" Michelle howled with laughter as she sank back against the pillows of the sofa in Angel's front room.
"I did! I called him massive, and big, and huge," Angel laughed, reliving the shame briefly, her face burning all over again, before she threw back the last of the sparkling wine in her glass. The strawberry she'd added to sweeten the dry drink hit her lips, so she opened her mount wider and consumed the fruit, enjoying the way the bubbles of the drink made the strawberry itself taste fizzy.
She removed her sweatshirt. The night was hot and humid, and after her wax, she'd changed her leggings for pajama shorts. Now the flush from her drink made the thin material of the long sleeve unbearable.
The tank top she had had on underneath was a favorite of hers, and the lilac color complimented her skin tone. Angel easily admitted that her skin was her favorite feature. The color was unique. She raised her arm, and ran a hand over it.
Not quite olive, nor the shade of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun, it had a honey glow to it that looked silky.
She took excellent care of it, moisturizing often, and keeping herself hydrated. She shifted to run a hand over her smooth legs. Feeling extremely content in her surroundings, Angel looked around her home.
They were seated in her lounge, the front room of her little cottage. The open-plan lounge into the kitchen was only separated by an archway in the wall which joined the one leading into the hallways, and another smaller arch opened to the side further down.
The kitchen had been a boxy room when she'd bought the cottage, closed off behind the lounge. Her idea to open the space up, without being able to remove the load-bearing wall had paid off.
The color scheme throughout her home was different shades of cream, with bold color accents. Her lush L-shaped sofa, which sat across from where the front door was located, it's high back to the kitchen was a neutral tone closer to grey in color, while the lush cushions were teal and burgundy, and the throw across the back was a deep mustard yellow.
The stairs, which started at the front door, were made from the same dark wood as the flooring throughout the cottage, and the evenly spaced beams in the banister.
The only carpeted areas were her bedroom upstairs spanning the entire upper floor, and the downstairs spare room. The kitchen was a mixture of whitewashed wood, open shelves, and porcelain and gold fixtures.
A large glass fruit bowl sat in the middle of the kitchen island, which was made with a heavy pale marble perfect for preparing food on. At the moment the deep sea-blue bowl had oranges and bananas in it, adding a splash of color to the kitchen.
Her appliances were state of the art, but were made to look rustic and antique to suit her tastes.
Such as the mint colored kettle, toaster and microwave, with their fifties designs, and modern settings.
The kitchen island had three high-backed wicker barstools on one side, facing the stove.
She'd had the idea when Michelle and Jackson, and sometimes Sienna, would visit, so they could sit and talk to her while she cooked for them. She always cooked for family, and they were her family.
They visited each other often, and nights like this one were a regular occurrence. Even before she had moved into this cottage, Angel and Michelle had spent a lot of time chatting and drinking together.
When school had ended and Michelle had returned to America to attend college to pursue her interest in art, and then later photography, they made use of technology to have their girl's night via video calls.
Angel had stayed in England to explore her freedom, and eventually had attended an academy in the South West after partying a few years away in London.
She had told her mother, who by then had moved to Miami, that she wanted to get to know her father, which was a lie.
Truthfully, she didn't want to go to a country where she couldn't drink legally until she was twenty-one.
At eighteen, free from school and university, where she had flunked out of all the business classes her mother's father had suggested she take, she had rebelled.
The London clubbing scene had called to her, and with an unlimited bankroll, she had splurged.
Her father's family had tried once or twice in the first year to see her, and to rein her very public antics in.
She often shuddered at the memories of her wild nights out.
She would like to say that she had grown bored with the lifestyle, and seen through the fake friends in her circle. But no, it had taken her soul-sister, Michelle, to snap her out of the insanity.
When Michelle had finally come to visit her, Angel had seen the truth of her life through her best friend's eyes.
Michelle hadn't been impressed with her high-profile apartment near the center of London, or her closet filled with designer brands. Or when she had name-dropped some of the celebrities they were dining with that night.
Michelle had said repeatedly that all she wanted was for them to spend time together, but Angel had been so wrapped up in her status, that she'd been blind to how ridiculous her antics were.
The eye-opener had been when one of her so-called friends had made fun of Michelle for not having enough money to join them at the overpriced restaurant they were headed to.
"I pay my own way," had been Michelle's statement earlier that night when Angel had said, her intentions gallant, "Not to worry! I've got you babe!"
Michelle's calm, but stern response hadn't been received well.
"Oh, how lovely and independent you are! It must be so nice to be so confident in yourself and look proudly at the things you own," the overly made up and extremely skinny model with a ridiculous name had sneered. "Oh wait. That would be nothing. Poor you!"
And then she'd laughed as if she'd been extremely witty. The three others in the room had laughed too.
Angel had taken one look around the room and seen it for what it all was. A farce. A lie.
She hated liars.
And like a slap in the face, Angel snapped out of it.
"That's it! Get the fuck out!" She'd stormed around, grabbing purses and jackets and had thrown them into the hall outside the entrance to her apartment. "All of you. Out!"
Michelle had tried to act like what that bitch had said to her hadn't hurt her, but those words had pulled a veil away from her eyes, and Angel had seen how superficial and shallow she'd allowed her life to become.
"God, I can't believe I was friends with those people," Angel said suddenly, back in the present.
"Huh?" Michelle, unaware of what Angel's tipsy mind had been dwelling on, poured the last of the first bottle into their glasses, adding a fresh strawberry to Angel's. "Who?"
"Those wannabe models and leeches from when I lived in London. Do you remember how rude that one awful girl was to you?"
"Oh, jeez, yeah. What was her name again? China-Italy?"
"Ha! Oh, I remember! India-Paris, but pronounced Paree!" Angel slapped her thigh, elongating the vowel. "What an absolute twat. You know that isn't even her real name? It was actually something simple, like Sarah or something."
"Did you ever hear from that lot again?" Michelle swirled the pale golden liquid in her glass, and watched the strawberry spin.
"Ben, actually, a few times. Looking for a hook-up that was never going to happen," Angel shrugged at the memory of the guy she'd dated briefly at the beginning of her three year stint in London, before she'd applied to become a chef.