Kingdom of isolation - you can't hide

Fifty Three - Dual POVs

Aurora

"So, I said to him, 'objectively, you are considered attractive. Subjectively, however, you are ugly as fuck.' Then, I slammed the door in his stupid looking face."

"Mara!"
"What the actual fuck, Miller? You promised you'd behave!"
"Respectfully, Whitlock, his grubby little hands were going to places they had no business going. I ain't working with that fucker ever again; your company couldn't pay me enough. Until you can vet your clients thoroughly, consider our business ventures paused indefinitely."

I hide my face inside my oversized hoodie, the seriousness in Amara's voice doing nothing but sending me into fits of giggles. Every time she talks, I close my mouth shut and pray she doesn't catch me laughing at her latest antic. This one being as fresh as a day ago.

"It's Brett Cosimo—what was I supposed to vet for you? People would kill to have his grubby hands all over them. You must have been having a bad day or something." The exasperation in Mia's voice is comical.

"Am I one of these people? Also, don't gaslight me—I know what I felt, and it wasn't what I signed up for. Rory, why are you hiding your face from me? What's wrong?"

"No comment." I wheeze, slouching into the plush cushions behind me. Just imagining Amara saying that to supermodel Brett Cosimo brings me to tears. Not a lot of people can have the privilege of working with him. My friend being handed the opportunity to work with that man on a silver platter, and subsequently rejecting it, will never stop being funny.

"She's embarrassed to call you her friend, that's all."
"No!" I gasp, peeking through the top of my hoodie and catching her stare. Wrong move. Chocolate brown eyes narrow suspiciously, seeing right through me.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh at my shortcomings all you want. But, let me tell you, it was a nightmare working with that dude. I didn't realise manspreading had become so normalised—and that fucker was wearing booty shorts. My fucking eyes!"

"Oh, my god. I'm in public, can you tone it down, Miller?" Mia hisses, rustling sounds coming from her microphone as she removes herself from the busy looking cafe. Miss Miller, sitting in her pristine looking bedroom, doesn't seem to care what Mia has to say, voice going at least an octave higher.

"And, you guys need to be better friends and stop me—detain me if you must—when I insist on doing shit after three tequila shots. Intoxicated me isn't really me!"

"Hey!" I protest, sitting upright. "You called me shrimpy and literally stepped over me to get to him. What else could I do?"
"Deflecting. Typical Miller behaviour." Mia sighs, holding her head in her palm.

"Well, I certainly tried talking you out of it, Mara. You never seem to listen when you've already made up your mind." Ophelia's soft voice confesses, rays of sunlight dancing behind her.

"Hey, you know what alcohol does to me; I turn Whitlock level stupid. I always listen to you when I'm sober, though." Her voice softens ever so slightly when she addresses Lia and it's adorable. I get it, I really do. Lia is far too adorable, too frikkin kind for her own good. You can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness over her. Now, more than ever.

"Just admit that you were being a vindictive little bitch that night and we'll forget this conversation ever took place." Mia's quick to call out the truth.