Highest ranking
#1 in utopia
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"It's about how your hips move," the hand that sits on my waist finds my hip, his fingertips trailing lightly along the fabric of my skirt. "When you arch your spine," he continues on, letting that same hand migrate...
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Other than the fact the music video is weird as fuck, I think this song is 🤌🏻.
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I have read The Great Gatsby. For a lengthy novel, I had hoped Kian might've interrupted me part way through, perhaps that same evening, or the one to follow. Alas, he does not show, and I curse my inconsistency. Had I not told him to leave? Why do I expect him to disobey my request why he has done nothing other than meet my every demand?
I sit on my bed, legs swung off to the side entirely bare, save for the cotton underwear I wear. My chest is covered with a bra to match, and my modesty is preserved, barely, by the sheer robe tied about my waist, feathered cuffs draped at my wrists. Lazily, I twist a strand of my hair around my fingers, staring absentmindedly at the wall as I wait for Zaveri to return from my bathroom. I have been waiting to bathe now for what feels like hours, but it is still yet to be drawn.
Zaveri soon exits my en suite, her hairline perspiring slightly to cool her from the steam that has built in the bathroom. Her eyes settle on my restless figure. "It is ready now – I have used chamomile and rosemary since you had complained of sore muscles." I smile in gratitude, pleased she payed attention to such an insignificant detail. Having hunched over a book for hours on end, my neck and shoulder began to cramp, tensing uncomfortably, and made it difficult to sleep last night.
"Thank you." I welcome the warm moisture that escapes the open door of my bathroom, my skin prickling in a confused response, fighting against the cold draught that finds its way through my open balcony doors.
"Do you need me for anything else?" Zaveri asks me, taking a hold of the basket which carries my dirty linen.
I shake my head. "That's all for now. Perhaps return later if you are free from duties." She bows her head to me in respect, leaving the room with a click of the door as it shuts behind her. In this solitude, I make my way into the bathroom, from which whisps of steam still escape, dragged by the breeze that still spills into my bedroom, carrying with it the lingering scents of oils that swirl within my bath water. Frothing bubbles lay atop, candles lit to surround the large tup with gentle ambience. I smile simply at how welcoming the bath looks. Perhaps my tense demeanor is just that noticeable.
Margot has already brushed my hair, but that does not stop me from dragging the comb through it myself, freeing each stand from any tangles which may remain. My hair has grown, I realise as I watch through the mirror – though my reflection is a near indecipherable blur, streaks of condensing water further streaking the image. Still, I see how the curtains of dark brown collect now at my waist, thinning as it reaches the deadened ends.
Just as I unknot the tie around my waist, a shadow in my peripheral diverts my attention. I pay attention to the noise, focusing past the whispers of the wind, and soon a shuffle resonates – a person attempting stealth, betrayed simply by the weight of their feet. My heartrate increases tenfold, and even as I watch the shadow move, inching closer, I remain frozen to the same spot, bleeding cold despite the invasive fingers of warmth from the bathroom which pinch my skin red.
