Contingency- [H.S]

V

;)

~S o f i a O l i v e r i a~

"What do you think you're doing?" Ezra asks me from behind.

I look in the corner of my mirror, seeing the way that she sits cross-legged on the end of her bed. Her dyed black hair is knotted in a messy bun on the top of her head. Jett, the stray cat she has insisted on homing is curled in a tight ball on her lap.

Her black painted nails scratch behind his ears, causing a soft purr to vibrate from his chest.

"Getting ready,"

"For what?" She questions dubiously, narrowing her eyes into thin slits.

"A date,"

"A date? Sof–"

"Don't start," I roll my eyes at her, puckering my lips as I smear a fingerprint of rouge lipstick.

I would say red but it is more than just red. It is a crimson red that kind of looks like blood. Perfectly lining my lips and filling in the plumpness of them, I swipe them together and then clean up the edges with the corner of my nail.

"So without risking like I am slut shaming you, Sof, but do you think that maybe it's kind of wrong to be going on a date while you're eye fucking Harry?"

"I'm not eye fucking anyone," I counter softly. "I'm not fucking anyone actually... which is a giant waste because I am so good in bed,"

"So get on that then," She smiles at me. "Sleep with him."

"With Harry?"

Her eyes narrow as her lips twist into a triumphant smirk. Her pale face looks at me through the reflective glass. Pursing her lips, she shakes her head at me. "I meant Alex,"

"Alex?" I question. "Oh, right... Yes, Alex..."

"Did you just forget his name?" Ez scoffs at me, her head tipping back as she chuckles loudly at me with a cackle that sounds kind of like a witch's bellow. "Oh, I cannot wait to hear the story after this."

"Shut up–"

"This is golden, Sof. You forgot his fucking name!"

"I didn't forget his name it just temporarily slipped my mind that he is called Alex–"

She laughs at me for the rest of the time that I get myself ready. Watching as I wiggle my hips into a pair of black fishnet tights, Ez flashes me the smuggest of smiles. The tights I am battling with have hearts stitched into the tights, making a pattern that sits snug on my legs. With a pair of knee-high leather boots covering half of my legs while a short black A-line skirt covers another small proportion.

"Ready to go?"

"Not really," I huff but even so, I gather my thighs, throw my lipstick into my bag and say goodbye to Ezra and Jett before catching a cab and giving the address of the bar.

I get to the bar and step inside after flashing the same bouncer with my fake ID. He gives it a once over like always without really scrutinising the fake name, date of birth and city of birth.

Stephanie Peterson.

03/21/1996

Boston, Massachusetts.

Smirking at my success of once again pulling random acting skills out of my ass, I saunter into the bar, pushing through the door to be slapped in the face with the warming heat of the neon glow that casts the entire place a vibrant red. The loud music thumps through the floorboards, vibrating up the heels of my boots and causing a tremble to vibrate through me with force.