Beautifully Broken

- 9 -

"We?" I shift to the edge of the bed as well.

"Yes, you will be coming along with everything I do today," He elaborates, "Please get dressed and head downstairs when you're done." The smile he shines at me is a quick one.

It looks painfully uncommon to his face

His lips are normally set at a very comfortable scowl, it speaks volumes on how he should be approached.

I lift myself off the bed into the closet. Walking in the different colors and material smile right back at me. They smell of a wonderful scent. 

The smell of choice - something I haven't had much of in my life.

Choice

They say you always have one, but honestly, whatever happens, is beyond our control. We might have been born with choices,

To cry or to not cry

To shit or to not shit

It was all up to us.

Then we get older, more people tell us what to do and what not to do. Slowly the right of a choice is stripped away and we're left optionless.

Of course, this leads to the feeling of hopelessness which leads to critical despair. This is where I believe we start to settle.

Settle for that boring job

Settle for that asshat of a husband

Settle for having kids that you don't want

I like to think this is how I explain my situation. I like to think that this puts my shit life into a small book that I can open at my worst hours and say:

'Ah that's why I'm so fucked up.'

It makes it easier to have something to blame.

The clothes are a symbol of everything I've missed out on. They show me how good my life really could have been. They show a better future. My hands graze over the different materials. Deciding which one I'll wear today, or maybe even tomorrow. I think I'll like this part of my day:

Choices

I like having choices

***

I picked a dress. Why? Because I wanted to - I wanted to. I like wanting to do things, then doing it.

Tieing the heels up, I make my way downstairs. I can't help the anxious bubbles I feel rising in the pit of my stomach. In a small section of my conscious, while I picked up every dress I asked the question: Would Cole like this?

It's weird, I know, but I just want a compliment.

I step off the last step, looking around for a certain devil.

I see him before he sees me. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, on his phone typing away. He's in a deliciously tight suit, hugging all the curves in his muscles. His haired jelled, jawline sharp. He looked perfect.

"I didn't know the occasion," I start out, "So I picked this,"

"Whatever you picked out I'm sure is fin-" 

He finally looks up, eyes scanning down my body. The way he's looking at me gives me chills. No one has ever looked at me like that. It sends spirals of fire down my body. 

He looks like he would eat me and honestly at this moment I wouldn't mind. My body betrays me as it shakes with excitement. It knows this is the exact response it wanted. 

"Jesus Christ," He mumbles under his breath, eyes slowly going up. His eyes finally connect with mine. The storm brewing violently within them.

"You look ravishing," He whispers, his voice littered with awe.

"You don't look too bad yourself," I chuckle lamely.

Cole gestures to turn with his finger. I allow the smile to cross my face as I twirl for him.

I feel arms wrap around my waist, immediately my breath hitches. He turns me around with a small embracing smile. I could breathe and our lips would be touching. The feeling of his body on mine clouded my thoughts, blocking anything rational. 

Before the gap closed he pulls away with a smirk.

I can't help the spark of disappointment that flares in my chest, but as soon as it arrived it was gone. 

Trust no one, love, that's how you get hurt

His previous words ring in my head. He's right. Delightful thoughts are only for sleep. My thoughts about him are just because I'm desperate. 

I should know better

"Ready, Princesa?" He asks, holding the door for me. The same stupid fucking smirk playing on his lips. 
(Princess)

I flatten my emotions, hoping to beat him at his own game.

"Ready when you are, Love."