forty-eight [ ON HOLD ]

five

chapter five// saturday, march 16

 day eight

I heard my alarm ring, allowing me to wake up. It was one o'clock, quite foreign to me for by now, I'd be standing outside waiting for a taxi cab. But I had called off work today. It was the sixteenth and as usual, Jordan and her husband Gerard were throwing one of their annual St. Patrick's day parties. I could not wait to attend, for it wasn't normal that I went out and mingled with people my age, so it was definitely going to be fun. I hopped out of bed, heading towards my closet. Just yesterday, after lunch with Caden and Ayako, Jordan stopped by, practically forcing me to get out and come to the mall with her. Of course, I wasn't the least bit happy for I hated the mall because I never really had enough money to spend. But the happy part of the mall was that yesterday, I was able to purchase a dress for today's party.

I wasn't into dresses, in fact, I would rather be wearing nice pants and a dressy top, but the dress I purchased was beautiful. It was a purple dress, hugged onto my body at all the right places. It had two thigh length slits at the bottom, allowing my long tan legs to look even more longer in it. It was gorgeous to say the least. I remember Jordan had fought throughout the store, wanting to have the dress in her size. Unfortunately, (fortunate for me) they didn't, leaving me with the prize: the dress. I was absolutely in love with it for never in my life had I owned a dress with such quality. Yes, I had my share of decent dresses including a little black dress with rhinestones planted across the top (which have all probably fallen off considering the amount of times I've worn it) but this one takes the icing on the cake.

I laid the dress carefully on my bed, heading towards the bathroom. I knew for sure that there were going to be plenty of men there, and of course, I had to make an impression. I decided to curl my hair. Though my hair came in natural waves, I believed the curls would bring out the feautures of my face, something many model bitches lacked. I plugged in the hot iron, setting it to the hottest temperature before stepping in the shower. The water was hot, but instead of changing it, I sat there, letting the steam wash off any excess makeup I had on. I let the water drip onto my body, cleansing me of all the things I've done throughout the week. Finally, after considering myself clean, I stepped out the shower, excess water dripping onto the towel that was laid onto the floor.

Immediately I began drying my body. I wrapped the towel around me, turning towards the steamy mirror. I sighed, too lazy to actually clean the steam off. I waited impatiently for the steam to get off the mirror, spending that time organzing my closet and choosing the final assets of my outfit. Finally, at about 2:45 I was ready. I had on a simple tee and pants considering Jordan invited me to help her set the place up. I had folded the clothes neatly, placing them in a bag. I had explained to Aron that I was staying at Jordan's for the weekend, but I knew he would question me if I walked around with my dress in my hand. And of course, I was definitely not taking the risk of ruining it. Not a dress that I had spent so much money on.

"Good afternoon." I stated, turning towards Aron who was laying on the couch. He nodded up at me. In his hand laid a book. It was pink with floral print placed all over it. Out of curiousity I blurted out, "What is that?" Aron shot me a plain look, not even replying just flashing me the front cover. On it, was a picture of my Mom and Dad. Both happy, both looking so innocent. It was scary for growing up, I never saw this part of them. "What is that?" I asked again, this time nodding my head at the cover. "Mom's diary. It was in Ayako's room at the top of her closet." Aron stated nonchalantly. "You should read page four, definitely makes me feel better about my role in ya'lls life."

I edged towards the book, grabbing it gently from his hand. I immediately shuddered at the sight of her neat handwriting. As a child, I remember desperately trying to learn how to write like her. I traced over her words as if I could feel her in her script. I took a deep breath looking for the beginning of the page before I began reading. This was the answer to all my questions. This was the reason why my mother was so cold-hearted at times. All of this was in the palm of my hands. If I could, I'd sit down right now and read every single bit of it. But I couldn't. Not just because of time, but because I knew I'd cry, and once I started crying, I wouldn't stop.