(Spin-off of Imaginary, more so specifically it's second book, Severity)
Cleo Vexer, a problematic teenage girl, is the sensation of your average pessimist and mediocre criminal. Still having to survive the rest of her senior year bitter and lonely...
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"Come meet my family."
"No. No, no, no, no, no." My eyes widened, alarmed. "There is no way I'm going to meet your family. Reason 1, we just became friends yesterday. And reason two, I already hold an internal grudge for them wanting you to take on their family legacy."
"Please, Vex." Caslon pleaded. "Listen, your name may have accidentally slipped into conversation, and now they want to meet you. In their world, there are no excuses for you not to come."
"Oh great," I laughed sarcastically. "Now they're not giving me a choice too."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't be like that. All I ask is that you have dinner with us for one night."
"I will suffer in there, Allway." I hissed. "Even if they weren't forcing you to one day run the family business, I'm not good with parents. I can't even manage to tolerate my own."
Caslon's gaze softened, but only by a smidge. "I understand that this is a lot to ask of you." He said slowly. "But if you do this one favor, I will do anything you want."
My ears perked up. "Anything you say?"
Caslon's eyes then held a bit of fear and regret. He sighs, "Yes, anything."
"Fine, I'm in." I completely changed expression.
Caslon blinked. "So," He drawled. "What do you want in return?"
"Since the only requirement for getting rewarded is to show up, I'll tell you the day after because you'd already have so much to worry about." A lopsided grin cracked on my face. "When is it?"
"Tomorrow night, I'll pick you up at your apartment," Caslon informed, still taken back by my sudden mood swing.
"Be ready, Cas," I warned him. "Saturday night is a disaster waiting to happen."
On Saturday afternoon, I smoothed out my emerald green dress, admiring the beauty of it as I held the fabric in my arms.
The faint memory sewn into its color sent chills down my spine.
It was the dress I wore when I was visiting the hospital, unable to believe my first boyfriend was dying.
A tragedy had sunk into my dress that day, it enduring the stain of sad memories and tears.
As I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror, a blanket of silence loomed over me.
As much as I wanted to say it was ugly and full of the horror attached to it, the dress looked beautiful.
It hugged the curves of my body, flowed slightly above my knees, and was surprisingly salvageable after being shoved in the black hole of my closet for years.
I did my make up, added a couple of gold accessories, and forced myself into heels for the night.
I couldn't help but take another glance in the mirror. I could remember it as clear as day. I had walked into the hospital, not ready for the hot tears that would cascade down my face.
I heard a knock on the door; the sound somehow becoming familiar.
I grabbed a small purse before opening the door.
"Let's go." A signature smile crawls upon my lips. "I'm ready for a storm."
