Creepin' - Metro Boomin, The Weeknd (Slowed)
˚✧ ˚✧ ˚✧
Aria
"To hate, is an easy lazy thing. But to love, takes strength everyone has. But not all are willing to practice."
I hate this.
I loathe it with every fiber of my being. The sight of this room makes me want to vomit. Who does he think I am? A child?
This is utterly outrageous. I can't stand how I'm being treated, and it infuriates me. All I want to know is why I'm here.
Surely my father is searching for me right now and will get me out of this nightmare.
There's way too much pink in this room, and I despise pink. Red or white would suit me far better. Just the sight of this only fuels my anger.
The fact that I'm being treated like a child is maddening. This room is an assault on my senses with its blinding colors.
The sunlight pouring in makes it even worse. My eyes ache, so I get up from the bed and close the curtains, reducing the brightness and easing my discomfort. I still haven't had a chance to shower since I don't have my own clothes.
Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing a blonde girl wearing a white skirt, a pink top, and pink sneakers. Her platinum blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and her lips glisten with gloss while her eyelashes are coated in mascara.
She steps fully into the room, moving beside the door. "Who are you?" she asks.
"A prisoner," I reply flatly.
She smiles. "I'm just joking; I know who you are." She holds up a bag full of clothes. "Here, I brought you some clothes." I furrow my brows and take the bag from her.
"How do you know who I am?" I ask, rummaging through the contents.
"Who doesn't?" I shake my head and sigh.
"So... you're not surprised I'm just... here?" I pull out a pair of shorts that are definitely too short for me. Great.
She taps her finger on her chin and shrugs. "Eh... no."
"You should clean yourself up and put on those clothes. Hurry, because lunch is going to be served downstairs. Eli won't be happy if you're late." With that, she walks out of the room.
So we're having lunch like a family now? I'm literally being held hostage—someone please explain this absurdity to me.
The shirt in the bag is a small light pink top that looks far too tight. My chest is going to suffocate in this.
I lay the clothes out on the bed and head to the bathroom attached to the room.
As I step inside, I'm met with another wave of disappointment. The bathroom is a pink monstrosity, with even the shower, body soaps, and towels all in varying shades of pink. He must have done this on purpose to annoy me.
But right now, I need a shower.
I quickly strip off my clothes and step into the shower, adjusting the water temperature until it's just right. As I wash off, I scrub vigorously; I feel disgusting and in desperate need of cleanliness. I wash my hair, too, since I've been sweating so much, and I rinse my face, making do without my skincare products.
