velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 12

ALAIA

As I observe myself in my bedroom's full-body mirror, I wonder, Who's doing it better than me? When you're a certified bad bitch, you don't get to clock out. It's a laborious responsibility, but I wear my baddie badges with honor. Whenever I'm on the battlefield, soldiers never forget to thank me for my services.

My coral blue mini-dress exerts a seductive yet elegant aura. The dress features a one-shoulder and one-sleeve design. The split sleeve flares out, complementing the high shoulder's edgy asymmetry. My garment bares my shoulder, belly, and legs. The form-fitting material enhances my covered features, leaving the most alluring parts of my physique to the beholder's imagination. My hands glide over the smooth, knit fabric. The mirror reflects a breathtaking smile of wonder. Is this what luxury feels like?

The designer bags on the marble floors of my dream bedroom answer, "Wi, cheri."

I giggle at my silly thoughts. My lips fall into an admiring smirk as I take one more glance in the mirror. The reflection of my upturned lips strikes a memory of someone else's. My elation fades, and my lips lose their curve.

Mama often wears an identical smirk while glimpsing herself. Although I can manage the physical resemblances between Mama and me, there are specific characteristics I hope I won't inherit.

In her mid-30s, Mama was diagnosed with narcissistic and borderline personality disorders. What if I flew under the radar during psychiatric examinations? What if a mental illness lurks in my brain, waiting to onset? A sense of impending doom induces a heavy pressure in my chest. By firmly shaking my head, I prevent a panic attack from taking hold. I declare to my reflection, "Enposib."

My ego is at an average person's inflation. I'm not a narcissist. The magnitude of pain that Mama caused me is something I could not inflict on anyone. The cruel punishments and brain games she played left me with PTSD and major depression. My depressive episodes and trauma responses can cause my psyche to splinter into a million pieces. When my charming personality is on vacation, I struggle to regulate my emotions, vacillating between extreme highs and lows.

Regardless of my emotional state, I maintain control over how I treat loved ones. Mama's malice stems from her soul and reluctance to accept help, not her mental illnesses. Her evilness can never rest in my soul. "Enposib," I repeat, affirming myself. It can't be possible. I won't let it be.

My phone's urgent vibration sends waves through the nightstand. Jaire told me to meet him downstairs around seven-ish. I silence the alarm and return to the mirror. I stand tall with lifted shoulders and chin and take a deep, meditative breath. It's 7:00, but he's not downstairs yet. This isn't a clairvoyant inclination; it's common sense. God forbid the day, but he will arrive late to his funeral. A laugh slips from me as he infiltrates my mind. Is it weird that we spent the whole day together, and I'm still giddy to see him?

Jaire took his punishment like a champ, spending over six figures on me without a complaint. He's uber-wealthy. He'll recoup his expenses by the day's end. Nevertheless, his generosity is worth admiring. I had an incredible time with him on Rodeo Drive. Shopping without limitations was a paradisiacal experience, and his company added to its splendor. His sweet, unpredictable nature has kept things entertaining. One moment, he exudes an air of mystery with his curt yet alluring responses. The next, he's an adorable and informative blabbermouth. He's a rare breed compared to the one-dimensional men I typically encounter.

With the scent of my new Tom Ford perfume still fresh, I grab my YSL clutch (also new) and head downstairs. Let's see how long my CEO keeps me waiting.

Halfway down the staircase, a mesmerizing scent of tobacco and vanilla sends me swooning. My stilettos almost miss a step, but a large hand reaches towards me, helping my way down. He's on time, and great heavens, isn't he divine?