Entering Flashback:
Isolde stood in front of her mirror, her hands clutching her thighs, pulling them to the back so they appeared smaller. She scowled, slowly tracing her way upwards, fingers grazing against the stretch marks on her glutes then sinking into the dips of her hips.
It was Valentines. Isolde had spent the entire day sitting at her window, watching as cars parked before her neighbors' houses. She gazed as boys picked up their dolled up girlfriends, with smiles of awe on their faces, or as parents left their children in the hands of babysitters and headed out for fancy dinners.
Isolde had turned her father's offer for dinner out down, claiming she was perfectly satisfied with being alone and staying in. But as she tugged at her purple lace underwear while she criticized her reflection, she couldn't help but feel this hollowness.
In an attempt to fill the aching void, she weaved through her room in the darkness and picked out the dress her mother had bought her, the one she kept for special occasions.
The floral beige dress slipped onto her like silk against her skin, stopping not much higher than midway at her thighs. She then challengingly glared at the black corset that came with hit, preparing herself for a battle she'd once already participated in. After a good fifteen minutes, she'd finally managed to strap it up, huffing as she stretched her aching arms.
Then, she resumed her place before the mirror, proceeding to scrutinize herself.
The hours were slowly ticking by. It was two hours to midnight, two hours before this day was finally over.
A soft knock came at Isolde's door, before her father spoke in a hushed tone.
"Can I come in?" He asked.
Isolde pulled open the door, flicking the lights on. Her father was taken by surprise, seeing his daughter dressed up at this hour, but a smile tugged at his lips nonetheless.
"Were you planning in going somewhere?"
Isolde shook her head no, moving to sit on her bed.
"Well, it's convenient that you're already dressed up." Sebastien said. "The boys are waiting for you outside. They asked if you wanted to grab dinner with them."
"What?" She couldn't help but lower. "But they've both got dates for Valentines-" she closed her mouth before she could express herself out loud anymore.
She stood, grabbing a jean jacket off her stool before marching out into the night. There indeed, under the warm light of lampposts, was parked Octavius's car. The windows were all rolled up, but she could still see more than 2 shadows moving about inside.
She wore her blank mask, going round to stand at the driver's door. She knocked twice and the window rolled down.
Octavius stared at her wide eyed while she scanned his passengers. Riding shotgun was Aspen Gallagher in the flesh, the girl Octavius spoke about back at Atlas's place last week. She was wearing a green dress to match her green eyes, an envious contrast to her tanned skin and fawn hair. In the back seat, Atlas sat red in the face, with another boy whom she didn't recognize. He had his hand placed firmly on Atlas's thigh as he nonchalantly smirked at her blond friend.
"H-hey Isolde." Octavius spoke, diverting the others attention to her figure outside the car.
"Are you up for some dinner?"
She blinked at him, tearing her eyes away from Aspen's as the latter stared back with the same intensity.
"You mean fifth wheeling?" She deadpanned, catching Octavius off guard. His brows shot up and his jaw hung loose.
"No! No." He said after regaining composure. "Adam has to catch the train back to the city, and Aspen has a sleepover to get to."
"Oh." Isolde breathed. Without saying much more, she turned and walked back into the house.
Her father was already waiting for her there, money in his hand. He handed it to her, patting her on the head. She thanked him, sprayed on some perfume, and rushed back out.
In the car, Isolde sat by Atlas in the backseat. She remained quiet the majority of the time, until Adam tried sparking up conversation with her. She quickly quieted him down though by asking about his age, education and intentions with Atlas as if she were his father.
In the front seat, Octavius and Aspen conversed privately, and he even walked her to the door of her friend's house once they'd dropped her off. He had covered her with his jacket as it had started to drizzle outside.
Isolde moved to sit in the front, Adam getting slightly too touchy with Atlas for her liking. She tuned them out, staring past the mundane movement of the windshield wipers and at the giggling couple. After a solid few minutes they finally parted ways but not before Octavius recieved a goodnight kiss.
After everyone had been dropped off, and a lengthy debate took place on where they should eat, they finally settled for some pizza at that cozy Italian place near the parks.
Isolde remained silent the rest of the drive, occasionally nodding her head or throwing in a few questions while the boys talked about their dates.
Atlas had opted for a public space, taking Adam to lunch at a sushi bar, which the latter generously paid for, then they headed towards the ocean for a walk and ended up meeting Octavius and Aspen at the iceskating rink.
Apparently, Adam was a second year production film student who worked a halftime job at a museum. He was very charismatic, but much too straightforward in Isolde's opinion.
Octavius on the other hand, didn't go much into details, saying he had taken Aspen for early dinner and then they'd gone to the ice rink. Unfortunately for him, he had the emotional intelligence of a 5 year old, and Isolde could clearly tell he was flustered but decided against being nosey.
They'd finally arrived, parking the car almost a block away for there were no parking spaces available today. Atlas hopped out, running straight ahead to escape the now pouring rain, while Octavius went around to open the door for Isolde and, just like he had done with Aspen, shielded her with his jacket.
Isolde tried to put some space between them, the scent of his cologne making her head spin as it bewitched her senses. But when she'd tried to escape, he laced their fingers together and pulled her along as he began running.
The bell overhead chimed once the pair opened the door. Atlas was already waiting, scanning the signs, deciding what he wanted.
Isolde was engulfed in warmth, the smell of freshly baked dough and homemade tomato sauce replacing Octavius's musky scent.
They stood at the cash register, a couple in line before them.
"Pepperoni or Margherita?" Atlas spun around a conflicted look on his face.
"Pepperoni obviously." Isolde replied, running her finger through her now damp hair. In reality, she just used that as an excuse to let go of Octavius's hand, taking the time to furtively calm her shaky hands and ragged breathing.
With a determined nod, Atlas turned back to the front, pulling his phone out his jacket's pocket as it vibrated with the receive of a new message.
Isolde turned back to Octavius who was squinting at the words trying to read what was written behind the counter.
His glasses were missing, explaining the hard time he was having to read the menu. His hair stuck to his forehead in shiny wet curls, a droplet of rain trickling down the side of his face to his sharp cheekbones and jaw. She followed the droplet down to the collar of his shirt, where now, under the light of the pizzeria, she could clearly see bruisings scattered along his neck and probably continued under his shirt.
Now she understood why his responses were vague back in the car when asked about the date. The hickeys explained it all.
"Good evening, welcome to The Italian Headquarters, what are yal having tonight?" The girl working the cash register chirped.
After ordering, the bunch took a seat at one of the booths near the window. Not many people were left, sitting in the brown leather couches under individual yellow bulbs overhead. The rain dribbled against the glass, the droplets sliding down the window in a race against one another.
While Isolde was too busy watching raindrops merge into one another on the window, she was completely oblivious to the boys surveying her.
Octavius had a fascinated expression on his face as he observed the pattern of Isolde's dress and the way it matched her eyes and freckles. Under the table, her leg kept slightly brushing over his as she unknowingly tapped her foot in anticipation.
Atlas on the other hand had a knowing look on his own face. His fingers rubbed the material of Isolde's dress by his side and he smiled.
"You look good." Octavius beat him to his thoughts.
Isolde turned away from the window, the whispers of surprise tugging at her features. She was met with Octavius's deep inky eyes staring at her, his cheek sucked in as he nervously chewed at it.
Atlas glanced between them with an intensity in his eyes.
"Thanks." Isolde mumbled, facing the window again.
Atlas's attention darted from the tips of her red ears, to the hickeys on Octavius's neck, to the blank look on Isolde's face.
Despite that night being equally as fun and interactive as the rest of their get togethers, there was no escaping the tension that filled the air.
End of Flashback.