Tattered Beauty (Watty Awards 2011)

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

            In the morning I woke up in a daze. I had to be dreaming. My head was on a swan feather pillow and I lay between silk sheets. The sun peeked through the curtains on the French doors leading to the balcony.

            I gasped and sat up, remembering. I spent the night at Daniel’s place. On the foot of my bed was my gown—freshly cleaned—a black hoodie, and a pair of new looking Abercrombie jeans. On top of the neatly folded pile was a handwritten note. I figured you want something comfy to wear when you woke up; keep them. I’ll call you later today. Promise. –Daniel.

            I put the sweatshirt on over my bare chest and zipped it up halfway. I buried my head into my shoulder—it smelled exactly like him. I inhaled his sweet, earthy scent. It was heavenly. I wondered what I smelled like to him; I planned on asking him one day.

            I strained my ears to hear for any sounds coming from the house: nothing. There wasn’t the comforting smells of a home, like breakfast sizzling in the frying pans. An eerie silence was all that existed in that home. Was it a home? No. This was an empty house. It was too open and carried a heavy atmosphere. Homes were supposed to be light and airy, a place where you could play and have fun. Here I just felt like I would break something if I but jogged.

            Knowing that nobody was awake to catch me, I put on my stiletto heels from last night, which I knew didn’t look very good to the general public, and walked out of the room. I tried to be silent, like I was all but a mist moving through the corridors. But do you know how difficult it is to walk quietly in the six-inch death contraptions that are heels? I winced with each clack I made on the marble floors. I followed my instincts to guide me to where I needed to go.

            I had to see Daniel. I shuffled around the corner and found it—the only door in the hallway. It was grand and could belong to none other than the son of one of the richest men in the country. The door was big, hard, and heavy; I pushed it open with hushed force and stepped inside. Thank God it was carpeted, or I’d have woken him up. He was lying in bed when I entered, fast asleep. Daniel’s chest was still bare from last night’s adventures. His shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes and was sprawled across the pillow. I’d never seen anyone look like such a disaster and still appear completely angelic at the same time.

            I wanted to be quick. I could get in trouble for being in here. Should someone see me...oh, Lord, if somebody happened to peak in, I’d be dubbed a creeper for the rest of my life. Getting caught watching someone sleeping is not a good thing. I tiptoed over to him and set my delicately beaded mask on his bedside table. That way, even though I wouldn’t be here in person, I’d still be here in spirit. I would be the first thing he thought of when he woke up.

            I snuck back out of the room, careful not to knock anything over and blow my cover in a moment of klutziness. I was looking over my shoulder at Daniel’s door when it hit me.

            Kelsey—to my great surprise—slammed headfirst into me. She was wearing only a long, white graphic t-shirt with a picture of marijuana on it. I nearly screamed when I saw her. “What’re you doing here?” she whispered loudly to me.

            “I’m getting hit a lot lately…” I mumbled to myself.

            “So not an answer!” Kelsey grumbled.

            I brushed myself off. “I stayed over—Daniel made me.” I looked her over. “Why are you still here? And where the hell are your pants?”