"Long as you dreamin' 'bout me, ain't no problem. I don't got nobody, just with you right now. Tell the truth, I look better under you."
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(Tierra's outfit above (: )
* * * * *
It's been a total of three days since I've last spoken to Atlas.
I know it's better that way, not only because I can contain my undesired desire for him, but because of the words he spoke to me that night. It left an internal scar that I didn't think would cut so deep.
I've learned to cope with the pain of knowing my family struggles, but whenever someone else brings it up, it hits different.
The past few days have been spent with every possible way of avoiding him, along with me being able to dodge family dinners. I don't even remember the last time I had dinner with my family. I think my mom yelled at me about something across the table, and I haven't eaten there since. So it was just Mom, Dad, and Amora.
And now, Atlas.
I bring myself out of my thoughts once I realize I've been staring at a random spot on the mirror for too long.
Inhaling a big breath, not before coughing a little, I put away all my makeup products back into their compartment, shutting the door and bringing my eyes back up to my reflection, my gaze lingering on my scar.
Maybe that's why your nose is so fucked up, Atlas' words linger in my head. I knew my scar wasn't the most flattering thing to look at, but it really just looks like a scratch that hasn't healed. I didn't think he found it that ugly.
He sounds just like my mom.
I avert my eyes to my concealer laying on the desk, then back to my nose. Quick to throw out that idea, I feel like slapping myself.
Fuck him. I'm not covering up my flaws for some fucking jackass.
I grab the concealer and pretty much throw it into my cabinet, slamming the door while lifting my arm to run my fingers through my hair out of frustration.
My mind flashes back to the jawline, the body, the ringed fingers, the dark hair, the grey streak...
Shit.
Why is he all of a sudden taking over my mind like this? Just because my sister has a hot fiancé doesn't make him a good person. And that's what matters, so my father and every parent out there says.
Releasing a deep breath, which causes my lungs to burn a little, I take one more glance at myself in the mirror before grabbing my keys from the desk and opening the door to my room, stepping out.
I can hear the chatter coming from the living room, and the minute I hear Atlas' voice my body seems to freeze, and it feels like my stomach just exploded.
