The Masked Singer

[Chapter Six]

Stripping out of my clothes, I step into the shower and start washing my body to the beats playing out of my phone. I start singing along to the lyrics as I get into the mood. Once I'm finished, I grab the towel off the rack and dry my body off before changing into my clothing once more.

An hour quickly passes without my realisation. The passing songs on my phone gave me some realisation it has been longer than ten minutes, but I never anticipated this much time.

There's a knock on the front door which sends butterflies erupting in my stomach. I'm not ready to face the world just yet, especially with one eye of make-up. I look ridiculous.

I suck in some courage as I walk towards the door. I open the door to find a young man no older than twenty-one staring back at me. He's only a fraction taller, with wide shoulders and a stocky frame. His work shirt is tight, pulling on the buttons which gives him a desirable muscle definition. His unruly blonde hair is curly and in a tangled mess which is pushed underneath his blue work cap. The man's cobalt blue eyes scanned over my body, which makes me shiver. The skin around his mouth crinkles as me smiles at me.

"Delivery of pancakes and ice-cream," he says, trying to hold off the humorous smile itching to spread across his red lips.

"Yes," I whisper, avoiding his intense gaze.

He removes a silver tray from the cart behind him and hands it to me. The tray is surprisingly warm and light in my hands.

"Thank you," I say.

"Have a nice day." He smiles.

I smile in return, then watch as he walks down the hall, disappearing around another corner. I heave a sigh of relief as I close the door. I back track to the lounge room and plop onto the plush couch. I take the lid of the tray and a wad of steam floats up and stings my face, but the sweet aroma of cinnamon scented pancakes.

There's two side bowls of vanilla ice-cream and chocolate chips. I sprinkle them across then dump the ice-cream over the top of it. The delicious aroma makes my stomach growl with hunger. This is certainly the best way to start any morning.

I find the television remove on the coffee table in front of me. Without someone telling me what to watch, I flick to the cartoon channel and settle back into the chair. I start chomping through the first pancake as a silly re-run of an old cartoon plays on the screen.

Just like anyone else, I get sucked into the motion of watching television. Once I'm finished eating, I place the tray on the table and sprawl out on the couch, hugging soft cushion to my chest. My deep translation is only disturbed by the sound of another person entering the hotel room.

"Are you ready to leave Riley?" he calls out.

The familiar sense of guilt trickles into my stomach and makes me feel sick. I'm not even close to being ready! I can't believe I let cartoon suck me into not being able to complete my only task for the morning.

I push my body up and rest my chin on the back of the couch as I look for the physical appearance of my father. He walks around the wall and stands a few feet away from us. He seems distracted by something on his phone, so I use this to my advantage to slip away.

"Almost," I call out midway through my escape to my bedroom.

"Why almost?" he asks.

"Because I'm almost ready." I chuckle.

I pick up the eyeliner pencil and finish where I left off. I dust on a pinky eyeshadow, then gather the rest of my belongings for my hand bag. Before leaving the room, I check over my outfit and straighten out any wrinkles.

My blue jeans are tight fitting, but show off the curves of my hips while the white fitted top that flairs out around my hips accentuates my hour glass figure. When I'm happy with my completion, I find my black flats sitting at the end of the bed.

"Are you ready yet?" he asks once more.

My father is rather impatient and conservative with his time. I've been late my whole life, which my parents think it's down to the fact I was born two days late. Perhaps I was smart enough to realise I didn't want to give up a good thing. Being free in the real world is a tough task to manage.

"I was born ready!" I tease.

"I have a work meeting to attend to later this afternoon," he begins to say.

"When aren't you working?" I roll my eyes bitterly.

"I wanted to let you know I've booked a nice table for dinner tonight."

The idea of a nice time out is intriguing. It's been awhile since Dad and I have really spent time together. But is dinner just a make-up for the fact he's leaving me alone to dance around with business meetings? I can't go through a repeat of that again.

"Sounds fun." I smile.

"Let's get moving." I follow Dad's lead out of the hotel room and down towards the elevator. We slip through the lobby and out the front to find a taxi. There is a swirl of good nerves floating through my stomach, but the same chilling worried feeling. Standing in New York reminds me I've been thrown into a whole new world and I've yet to find my feet.

Will I hit the ground running or completely whip out?