My Secret Life

3. Carelessness

I walked into my room and closed the door silently behind me.

Then I raided my walk-in wardrobe.

At the farthest end there was a row of fancy dressers, crammed full with neatly folded clothes, all specially chosen by the parents.

I pulled back the second one in from the right slightly, and crawled in the little gap behind it. There was a camoflauged door in the wall, and I eagerly opened it.

Inside the small, make-shift wardrobe was a bundle of my clothes. The clothes that I had chosen by myself, without the parents around to tell me, 'Oh no, that is far too revealing for you. Why don't you have this grey jumper?'

In there, I had comfort.

I had shorts and skirts, nice dresses, pretty tops, tights, boots, gorgeous lingerie...

You must be wondering how I get all of it washed without the parents finding out.

Well, washing machines come in very handy when the parents are out.

I quickly chose a nice tank top that fitted my curves perfectly, revealing only a tiny bit of cleavage, and a pair of denim shorts - the kind with loose threads and rips, but still looked pretty damn hot.

It always felt nice to wear my own clothes, and actually feel like myself rather than the boring, old fashioned snob that the parents were trying to force me to be.

I hated the horrible baggy clothes I was told to wear. The plain denim jeans and black polo shirts, or turtle neck jumpers; the long, flared tribal-patterned skirts, and long-sleeved button up blouses; the cringey plain white underwear that was too small for me, because my mother and father didn't believe that I actually had curves.

My personal style made me feel like a better person. Coloured denim skinny jeans and crop tops; tight, figure-hugging dresses and waist coats; short beach style skirts, ripped up denim shorts and slightly low cut tank tops; gorgeous underwear that fitted me perfectly, and also made me feel more comfortable and sexy.

My eyes lit up as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I felt much more alive with my clothes on. My skin tingled happily, as if it was the sizzling hot desert, finally getting a cool breeze.

A smile came to my lips, and my cheeks flushed with happiness. I danced around for a while, savouring the few seconds I had of a glimpse of freedom.

Then I took a deep breath and the excitement melted away.

I had to put on the shitty clothes now.

Jordan and Evie have often asked me why I hadn't just told my parents that I didn't like them choosing everything for me, and that I wanted to control my own life. I was sixteen years old after all.

It wasn't because I was scared of them - hell no! It was more of the fact that I knew what their reaction would be. I had experienced their reactions many times before at just minor things, let alone me telling the whole truth. The disappointment and horror in their eyes were too much to bear.

It was just easier doing what I did.

I pushed the dresser back into place, and then searched through the boring set of clothes. The lights seemed to dim around me, as if they were also tired and bored of the granny clothes I had to wear.

I finally sought out a plain button-up shirt and dark denim boot cut jeans. I wore white dolly shoes and glared at the mirror.

I hated what had replaced the good looking girl that had been there only seconds ago.