Stupid Cupid

Drunk mistakes can sometimes produce good results... sometimes

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Excuse the mistakes

 Picture of Vance on the side

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“No!”

I pressed my pillow harder into my mouth and nose, and tears streamed down my cheeks. Gus was curled up in my lap, but the slumbering puppy wasn’t enough to stop my small, emotional meltdown.

Suddenly, the light to my bedroom snapped on, and my head whipped up to see Zephyr standing in the doorway. She said something, but I couldn’t hear her, so I paused the video streaming through Netflix on my laptop and yanked my headphones out of my ears.

“What?” I asked, and Gus unfurled his body and stretched out across my folded legs.

“I said,” Zephyr replied, planting her hands on her hips, “The party starts in an hour, and here you are, sobbing over some stupid television show.”

“American Horror Story is not stupid,” I said defensively, “Especially when Violet just tried to kill herself, and Tate is holding her body in the bathtub.”

“Seriously?” Zephyr asked, raising an eyebrow, “You’ve been obsessing over that show ever since it premiered!”

“Just because I’ve watched the first season four times doesn’t mean I’m obsessing,” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest, “Besides, when the second season is posted on Netflix, I can obsess over that.”

“Fine; sounds fantastic,” Zephyr replied, rolling her eyes, and she crossed my room and threw open my closet. I knew that as soon as she got a hand on my clothing, Zephyr was focused on finding me the perfect outfit. So, I just scooped Gus into my arms and placed him on the bed next to me, and I shut my laptop.

After placing it on my desk, I walked into my bathroom and turned on my flatiron. Quickly, I ran it through my hair, which had dried frizzy and wavy this morning when I showered after dance rehearsal.

“Hey, Zeph?” I said, peeking my head out of the bathroom, “How do you think I should do my makeup?”

“Make it pretty,” she replied, not looking back at me, but rather staying fixated on my clothes.

“Wow.” I stared at Zephyr’s back, completely amazed at how unhelpful someone could be. After a moment, I just sighed and threw my hands up, and I went back into the bathroom. I opted for pale pinkish white eye shadow, and then I lined my eyes heavily with charcoal eyeliner and finished with some mascara.

I wasn’t one of those girls who didn’t know how to do their hair or makeup and needed their best friend to be a magician when it came to things like that. No, when you grow up dancing, you learn at a very early age to do makeup and hair.

“Alright,” I said, combing through my hair as I walked into my bedroom, “Let’s see what you got.”

Zephyr, who’d laid out an outfit on my bed, was furiously texting someone on her phone. When she heard my voice, however, Zephyr’s head snapped up. She gave my hair and makeup a once over, and after a moment, she just nodded and returned to texting.

I chuckled to myself and walked over to my bed, and I studied what Zephyr was wearing for the first time since she’d stepped into my bedroom. Her ensemble consisted of a pair of black, ripped nylon leggings, and a hot pink, sleeveless dress that was belted at the waist with a neon yellow belt. As I lusted after the black ankle boots she had on, Zephyr looked up at me.