IWMR | Bbangsaz

Chapter 1

Hanni's Pov

You've got to be kidding me.

I stare down into the white porcelain bowl of the toilet. Through the clear water, my emerald earring sparkles.

"Fuck," I breathe in irritation. I so don't have time for this right now. I was supposed to be at the hotel a half hour ago, except it took me more than twice that long to finally settle on the perfect dress. You think it's hard for the average woman to decide what to wear? Try being a clothing designer.

I sigh as I take off the vintage cuff bracelet I'm wearing and lay it on the edge of the vanity, then take a deep breath, reach down and plunge my hand down into the toilet. Of course, the earring starts to slip further down the chute, forcing me to really get my hand all up in there. I close my eyes and pray it won't slip completely out of my grasp, until I finally feel my fingers brush against the tiny bit of metal.

I pull it out triumphantly, and then immediately turn on the hot water tap so that I can rinse it off.

After I'm done, I scrub my hands and then stare down at the earring. The glinting green stone is pretty, but do I really want to go to this thing knowing I'm wearing toilet earrings? This is the first event I'll be going to in Dad's stead, and I'm already nervous enough. I don't need to spend the whole night thinking about the fact that I'm wearing ... well, toilet earrings.

I set the errant earring aside - possibly to sterilize later - and take the other one out from my ear. I start rooting around through the pile of jewelry that's spread out on the vanity, looking for something that will match the green dress I finally decided on wearing. I spot a dangly gold and pearl earring that I've always been fond of, and hold it up, inspecting the look in the bathroom mirror.

My brown hair is pulled back in a sophisticated twist, even though I normally wear it down. The earring actually looks nice, hanging down and highlighting my surprisingly long and graceful neck.

About the only part of me that might be considered graceful, I might add. The rest of me is thick and decidedly inelegant. Curvy, I might say on a good day.

At least the green dress I'm wearing is cut to accentuate my good parts - a low-cut top, nipped at the waist, and with a flared skirt that hits just at the knees. It's perfectly vintage and perfectly me.

Though I guess it should be, given that I designed it.

I think longingly about my sewing machine, tucked away on my father's dining room table and slowly getting covered in a thick layer of dust. I've barely had time to touch it since I've been back in Chicago, and my hands itch for the feel of fabric under my fingertips, the whir of the machine in my ears, and the pedal vibrating under my foot.

There's no time for that though. Not right now, anyway. Maybe not ever again.

I gently put in the earring and start hunting around for its match. The rings and brooches and earrings and bobbles are all blending together, spilling over the vanity and even onto the back of the toilet tank, which is how I ended up tossing my favorite gemstone stud into the commode. I really need to get myself a jewelry box or something, I think, adding yet another item to my ever-growing to-do list.

Of course, it isn't just my jewelry collection that's in disarray - my stuff is spewed all over Dad's brownstone right now, and between his furniture addiction and my clothing addiction, I feel like I'm living in an episode of Hoarders. I just haven't had the time, or the willpower, to start going through any of it yet.

I haven't gotten much of anything done lately - my whole life feels like I'm just focused on keeping my head above water. I haven't even gone through Dad's paperwork yet - the huge envelope the lawyer gave me is still on the desk in his office, gathering dust.