Five More Minutes | 18+ [HIATUS]

club

The silken black fabric slides against my skin as I pose in the mirror, the charcoal black mini dress tight around my curves. My lashes are curled, but I didn't bother to put on extensions earlier. A simple swatch of lip gloss and some mascara will have to do, along with the subtle dark eyeshadow I decided to give a try.

Damn.

I'm hot.

My head is turned to the mirror as I look at my ass, and I'm hyping myself up when Hades walks in. His shirt is unbuttoned only at the top, and his brows raise with amusement when I flinch. "Someone likes their dress," he says.

I try to save myself, but it's too late. Instead, I cover up with a smile and walk towards him, wrapping my arms around his neck and placing a quick peck on his nose. He does the same with his arms around my waist and buries his head into my hair, taking in my scent.

"You always say that." Because he does— every time he comes home and I go in for the hug, he smells my hair and says, 'You smell good.'

I look up at him when he pulls away. "If it makes you feel any better, maybe it's because you finally decided to get me my own hygienic products. So now I don't go around smelling like a man."

He shakes his head and chuckles. "You ready?"

I nod, grabbing my phone and giving myself one more look in the mirror. But this time, when I do, I catch a glimpse of the scars on my palms— the ones I inflicted on myself. I flip my palms over and stare down at them, even with my phone in one hand. Some scars are engraved into the sensitive skin of my palm, old and worn out, ones from years ago, forgotten. Others are pink, fresh, from last month to months back, reminding me of the frustration my parents had given me. It was as if these scars were words, telltales, signs from my parents. "Here," they would say. "Look at these scars and count your mistakes, since your parents aren't here to do so."

"Hey," a low voice snaps me out of my daze. I look up and into the mirror to see arms wrapped around me from behind, hazel eyes staring deep into mine in our reflection. Before I can stop him, he takes my phone and places it on the counter. His hands grab the back of mine and force me to look at my scars again.

"They're beautiful. You're beautiful. Don't try to convince yourself otherwise."

What the fuck is he saying?

Is he trying to make me cry?

But the rest of our conversation is silent, and I revert my gaze to his, and he smiles, and I smile, and he lets go, and I let go. I let go of the insecurity for tonight, because he's made me capable of doing so. I grab my phone and follow him out the bathroom, and when he's ready, we start going back and forth with jokes. He's probably trying to distract me, but it's definitely working. We laugh our way out of the room— and we don't stop laughing until we reach the car.

* * *

Hades finally turns into a parking lot, crowded with cars beside the large building. "Wait here," he says, and he steps out of the car. I listen to him, then realize he only told me to wait because he wanted to open my door for me.

"Thank you," I say under my breath as he holds the door open. I step out, Hades pushing it closed and locking it behind me.

He shrugs, then takes my hand. And he's never taken my hand. And I'm blushing. Oh my goodness, I'm blushing.

Silently, with only the pink heat of my cheeks, we saunter over to the entrance of his apparent club, walls dark, neon signs hanging, music blasting from the inside. I can hear shouting, can practically smell the sweaty dancing, can practically taste the drunken atmosphere.