Royally Kissed | ✓

11; the sweet escape

—eleven—

the sweet escape

ANYONE WHO SAID that being a girl wasn't tough absolutely have zero idea about Paige's daily struggles of being one.

It wasn't just because of the monthly cycle of her menstruation, or how the fact that a woman's body was practically another person's business, or what to look like and how to act.

Even the clothes a woman wear was hard to deal with−most of the time, at least.

So when it was already Friday, twenty-five minutes before five in the afternoon, Paige still hadn't got to pick the right match to her mood which would be appropriate to where she was going.

"Do you, at least, have any idea where you guys are going, though?" Jouwee asked from the screen of her phone, who was currently popping some popcorn into her mouth. Paige dropped her arms down after staring at a little black dress for far too long, before shaking her head defeatedly. Jouwee rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't hurt to ask, you know? But, if he doesn't clue you in, you can always go for a simple dress−but something that could keep you warm, too. It's your safest bet."

"Got it." Paige nodded, then spun on her heels to pull up a dress from the bed. "This?"

Jouwee deadpanned, as she studied the halter dress, with pink sequins all over it. "Simple and warm, fall's almost done, for god's sake. And by the way..." she paused, and scowled when Paige looked at her, "ew. That's the ugliest thing I've seen this whole week."

"You're not helping," said Paige in a straight voice, running an anxious hand through her hair. She'd showered already and she was in her bathrobe, a barely-there makeup done; but time was always changing, and so was everything there was. Time had an uncanny ability to change everything that go against its path.

Including her makeup.

"Actually, I am," Jouwee responded matter-of-factly. "If you hadn't called me, I would never be able to help you choose between the nays and the yays. You know what? I think it's better if you just go for a casual look altogether. I mean, it's debatable. If he's gonna take you out for a dinner reservation, you wouldn't look weird. Or, if he's going to take you somewhere else, that'd be fine, too."

More or less two seconds when Paige had squinted her eyes calculatingly like contemplating the words she'd just said. Then shrugged.

"Yeah, you're right. That actually makes everything so much easier," acquiesced Paige, snatching her phone from resting against a white, dainty vase with three plum tulips−one of the only three things that ornamented her left bedside table, along with a family portrait and a marble clock.

She aimed for her walk-in closet and placed her phone against a shoe, one of several pairs kept into a clinical white shoe organizer. Jouwee was silently watching her every move as if scrutinizing an imminent danger while Paige headed to the opposite shelf in the same color−where an array of clothes were hanging.

Paige's head turned from side to side, carefully scanning appropriate clothes, before letting out a sigh, one of a thousand she'd already made hours ago. "Why is this so hard? I don't have anything to wear!" She threw her hands in frustration.

Jouwee rolled her eyes, crossing her legs atop her desk where her phone was possibly located. "You're such a girl."

Paige turned to glare at her. "Very funny−oop, he sent a message."

See you in thirty? x

Paige let out a strangled cry, not bothering to open the pop-up message and flurried across the room. "I am so dead, Jo. I need you here."