Love Affair (One Last Time #3) [DROPPED]

Taken Alive

Chapter Four
Taken Alive

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Turns out Conrad and my mum were serious when they were talking about me meeting his parents. Like really serious. My mum made me go out shopping with her to find a dress to wear.

Three hours it took. Three damn hours of my life finding the perfect dress to wear to meet Conrad's family.

Fuck, I was hot. I am hot. Burning under all this tension. Questions in my mind draining the colour right out of me.

What if I'm not good enough for him? What if- to them- I'm not right? What if they don't like me? What if they . . . what if they don't . . . what if I-

"Stop," I tell myself. Staring at myself in the mirror. I pull the top of my dress higher over my breasts. What if this dress isn't formal enough? Posh enough?

God, I don't know him. I don't know Conrad at all. I don't know what kind of family he's from. But my mum knows. My dad too. They wouldn't let me buy this dress if they didn't think it wasn't up to their standards.

This is the type of dress I would wear if I was going to one of those posh banquets with, I don't know, the queen.

"But my parents wouldn't let me go if I was uncomfortable, right?" I comfort myself pathetically. "They would make up an excuse, say that I started vomiting or something."

My eyes land on the toilet, the thought of purging seeping into my mind. But I drag it down, fixing the creases in my dress. Trying to stop myself from hyperventilating.

"Breathe, Melody. It's just an hour. Just an hour." I bite my bottom lip, fixing the smudges of eyeliner. Ruining it further. I groan loudly, swearing with everything word in the dictionary that fits this situation.

"No no no, " I repeat, grabbing a cotton patch and dipping it in makeup remover, "this can't be happening, not today."

I wash my face excessively with soap, removing my face from signs of make up. I reapply, cutting down and putting on mascara and light lipstick.

Lightly, I remind myself.

The dress goes down to my feet, and that's not even the formal twist. The formalness- according to my mother- is in my hair. I don't see it though, but it's not in a ponytail and is curled- a courtesy of my mother.

I guess I look nice- pretty. But I don't feel it, and I doubt I look it. Nevertheless, I gaze at my bit-lighter-than-midnight blue dress, a word my dad used when viewing the dress. Staring as it hugs my curves and loosens around the legs.

But the top is a whole other story. With one drastic flaw that stopped me from buying it: no straps.

No fucking straps.

I couldn't believe it, such a perfect dress that doesn't have straps. But this didn't stop my mum from buying it. She thought the idea was splendid. That it worked perfectly for my body.

News flash mum: I'm not a model.

So she brought it and I'm wearing it, constantly pulling it up my chest. Yes, it held. It fit perfectly and it stayed in its place without slipping down, but I can't help the butterflies when I'll be seeing Conrad's parents in this.

I bite my lip again, staring at my eyes. The unforgiving butterflies erupting when I hear mums voice yell: "Melody, its close to seven, are you ready?"

No. I need another year, maybe more if I can't stop the nausea bubbling up in the pit of my stomach.

Five minutes later and I'm still in the bathroom, constantly checking my watch. Wishing time could slow down. "Melody?" I hear mum say, and she enters the bathroom.