A Piece of The Sun

12. 338

Author POV

It was like any day for Ariana Hutton, she would get up from her bed, brush her teeth, begin to cry and go out to breakfast with her friends pretending everything was fine. They would rattle her about the fashion designer she was "dating" and she would say nothing, typically. On the occasion, she would talk about their relationship, she mentioned the places they would go, the dresses he made her, the shoes she got to try on. Never the sex, the temperamental fits of kinky pain and pleasure, his need for control, his endearing, sweltering kiss.

Then Ariana would see her appointed therapist-- Another thing Noah paid for her and talk to Dr. Toadstein about her semi-normal childhood, her adult relationships, and then hers about Noah, as though he cross-examined her for why she would dare walk into this dynamic to begin with. As though any of it were her fault. She was as much a victim as the last person. Sometimes Dr. Toadstein was helpful, yet she hadn't made any real breakthroughs, she had only been going to this therapist three days a week and hadn't seen him that long.

Her lunches were oft taken in the lonely jazz den at the bottom of the hotel, a quaint club where she would drink three whiskeys and cry some more. Less than hating the man she loved, more than resenting him. The thoughts drummed on her brain Why aren't I enough for him? I loved him, I swear I loved him, didn't he know that? He knew that! I loved everything about him and it wasn't good enough.

She would drink some more and sleep until dinner came around, which consisted of a burger and peanut butter whiskey shake.

Ariana invited a man over to her hotel tonight, some random handsome stranger whose face didn't matter once astigmatism blurred the night and the vodka drinks from Gallina Sivs distorted his face. He was a Noah knockoff, with dark hair bordering coal black, and a square jaw, he wasn't as tall as Noah, but he made up for it in muscle mass which Noah had a quarter of what the man had, and green eyes to accompany his dazzling smile. An actor.

The restaurant employees watched on in judgment as the two slunk and teetered drunkenly back to their seats, pacing in zigzags. "You're so pretty," Knockoff Noah giggled.

"So are you," She compliments, her vodka-beaded eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. She couldn't tell him apart from the boy to Noah. She wanted to fuck him. Fuck the sense right back into him and get her back at the man by this act of defiance.

Master never liked when I defied him, only when it worked in his sexual interests. He loves it when we make it a little hard, he gets very hard in return. I loved when he'd take us to nice places like this, the after-effects of going to places like Gallina Siv's, how hard he'd fuck me. My bedroom, the baths we'd take together. All except the dungeon and the butler watching us, waiting for assistance.

"We should leave here soon," Ariana suggested.

The knockoff agreed and whistled for a waiter to attend their table with his hand waving in the air, the chip for his payment and other exchange information all in his wrist. In a matter of ten seconds, their waiter made their way to the table to close the tab. Safe to say, there were no leftovers to bring back to the hotel, Ariana had hungrily and sadly eaten every morsel, she tamped her feelings down with stuffed shark steak and souffle potatoes.

Ariana learned early on in her life that her face was her meal ticket and stamp into exclusive clubs and restaurants, to be picked up by an actor wasn't that much of a stretch once her face had been plastered on the cover of a virtual magazine and billboard under Noah's arm. Famously known as "the girl" being associated with him. As they buttoned their coats and walked past the hostess of Gallina Sivs she mistakenly eyes a thick apparition of limestone-skinned Noah, unable to tell if her mind was playing tricks on her, only to be met with a skittish, frail and tired redhead under his arm.