*༶тαѕтєѕ ѕσ ѕωєєт | h.ѕ ༶*

When Flora Met Harry ♡

♡

I survey my body in the mirror of my closet door, staring at the way the sides of my stomach hang off the waistband of my jeans.

These were labeled 'boyfriend style', meaning it should look like you just got out of your boyfriend's bed, and you are now throwing on his baggy jeans.

Mine just sit tight against my thighs, hanging baggy in all the wrong places.

My eyes find there way to my breasts that sag slightly in my plain grey tee shirt bra. I used to wish I could wear those bedazzled bras that every girl the age of twenty-two years. I bought a black lace set one time. I never bothered to try it on. Why would I? so I could feel worse about myself when it doesn't fit.

Yeah, I got over that dream a while ago.

"Flora? Are you even listening to me?" My best friends voice leaves the speaker of my cell phone sitting on my nightstand.

"Sorry Lola, I'm listening sorry." I almost forgot I was even on the phone with her, as I found new things about myself I despised.

Lola has been my best friend for a couple of years now. I met her one day at the book shop where I work. I still to this day have no idea what she was looking for.

Lola hates reading and she always jokes with me about how much time I spend reading.

It's funny how different the two of us are but, Lola just had one of those smiles that could make friends with anybody, even if she did already have friends that were way prettier and cooler than I would ever be.

Lola has everything. She has the clothes, the pretty face, the phenomenal body, a new boyfriend every place she walks through.

And well I have my books and the boring pages of my diary I keep.

"I was just saying I'm coming to pick you up in fifteen minutes." She scoffs at me while having to repeat her words.

"I was just going to stay in tonight actually," I say tiptoeing around my room, listening to the faint sound of my record player spin.

"Doing what? Reading one of those tragic romance novels of yours?" I can hear the sound of her eyes rolling as she speaks.

"It's wuthering heights and it's not tragic, it's beautiful."

"Flora you better be dressed and downstairs in ten minutes!" She shouts and I hear a beeping noise signaling she hung up on me.

Sometimes I wish I didn't have to feel like I had to go just to make sure she gets home alright.

I can already tell you how the night is going to go.

We will get to the bar, Lola will make me take a shot with her, she will be drunk within minutes, leaving me to sit on some man's lap who will buy her the drinks she downs, and I will sit at the bar alone, stirring at my strawberry daiquiri.

I scoff as I walk to the laundry piled up on my couch. I pull out a black scoop neck tee, and a lilac cardigan to cover my arms that pile out of my sleeves like pudding. I keep on the so-called 'boyfriend' jeans.

Cellulite is what I get for trying to be trendy.

I step back to my mirror, fluffing out my dark curls that hang past my shoulders. I slip on my white vans and grab my cross body purse that hangs over top of my chair, walking through the door.

By the time I get downstairs, Lola is waiting for me. She taps her high heel against the tile floor impatiently. She looks stunning as usual. Her blonde hair long down her back and her body con dress tight against her petite frame.