Sariah is strategic.
She has a religion. She follows rules. She knows what she wants. After finishing high school, she graduated in the top five percent of her class at university and is now embarking on her newest, most exciting journey; working...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"This is Sariah speaking." I answered the phone whilst brushing out my curls.
"Sariah, darling you haven't been returning any of my calls." a familiar voice complained. All the blood drained from my face and the brush fell from my hands onto the carpet.
Oh. No.
"I-I haven't seen any of them." My voice came out a breathless whisper as I struggled with holding my weight up.
"That is okay darling. You did promise to call me back, so I thought something was wrong. I was really worried about you. How are you?" she questioned.
If I wasn't so horrified, I would've been angry. I was really worried about you. My fist curled at my side as a wave of nausea washed over me. I reached out for the dresser as my knees wobbled and found I grasped air instead. She was really worried about me? Ha.
"Fine." I slowly dragged my feet closer to the dresser and curled my hands harshly against the cold material. I supported my weight against it as I fear that if I move, I'll fall over.
"Okay, my dear. I've been calling because I have some good news." she chirped, oblivious to the gritty tone in my voice.
"And what could that be, mom?" I scraped out.
"I'll be in your city in the next three weeks!" she exclaimed.
It hadn't occurred to me that I was now back to supporting my own weight until I fell and hit my head. The phone bounced away from me as my vision blurred and everything went dark.
***
"Which colour do you prefer?" I ask Arman who is perched on my bed, his phone and laptop in his hand.
"Perhaps the yellow one. It really complements your skin and your eyes." he replies, his eyes on his phone and his lips drooped in a frown.
"Perhaps... I do like it." I whisper, inspecting the yellow frilly dress. Yesterday, Arman asked me out to dinner, a supposed re-do of the awfully awkward one we'd both struggled through the last time. He told me to wear something comfortable and I immediately had thought of a few dresses; a red body con, a little black dress and this frilly yellow brunch style dress. The body con was beautiful but not at all something I'd wear for a first date, though it was hella comfortable. I really love the little black dress but the yellow dress stood out the most. It hugged my bust and flared off just below my ribcage. It stopped a bit above my knee with a criss-cross back bodice.
"Should I try it on?" I ask him. He looks up at me from his phone, glances at the dress and then back to his phone.
"Yes, please." He grunts, taps furiously on the phone screen and abruptly tosses it on the bed. I watch as he runs his hand over his face as he falls back onto my bed with a plop. The phone bounces off the edge of the bed and onto the exposed tile with a loud smack.
