le bonheur de vivre

18

Elodie's mother took the hairbrush firm in her grip and began running in through Elodie's luxuriously rough hair. The brush felt nice on her scalp, like a man's fingers, but sometimes in the areas where it was obstructed by stubborn knots it dragged, and pulled, and made her feel altogether uncomfortable. But for the most part Elodie liked it, it gave her tingles. And Elodie's mother liked it, she liked holding her child, and assuming a maternal role. She was elated when Elodie had asked for her hair to be brushed. It was as if her child was bleating for milk once more.

But a mother to a seventeen year old albeit. They were almost equals.

"Elodie, darling, we're going out tonight and I was wondering if you'd like to come."

Her mother went to the furthest extent to take Elodie wherever she went, although if inappropriate. Elodie remembered the first time she was taken clubbing - aged 12. It was peculiar how champagne tasted to horrid back them but so utterly sweet now!

Elodie replied leisurely, as she watched Ruso through her window. "Perhaps."

It was Friday and on Friday night's Gustavia lit up, it practically glowed - with light, sound and unbridled energy. It was fun. And maybe Elodie needed that fun. It seemed as of recent she had been living an altogether rather depressing life.

"We'll be leaving at 9ish, that is if you'd like to come."

Elodie could feel her mother finishing as every stroke began to melt as the brush ran through her now silky hair. She could hear the hairband being pulled, ready for use. She could hear the exasperation in her mothers hands, hardworking hands that strived for satisfaction.

"I think i will come."

And that was it. Her mother tied her hair and left, as per usual in their conversations. Elodie sat at her desk and applied her Chanel perfume to the nape of her neck and her clock changed from 6.15 to 6.17 and then she looked back at Ruso but he was gone. She then squirmed around in her bed as if she were some sex object and then she lumbered around her room and then she read some Wilde and then she drew in pencil on her wall and then she looked at the clock and it was 7.30 so she laid on her bed and stared at the ceiling and ran her fingers up her side and took her top off and ran her fingers up and down the part of her hip where it curved and it felt ethereal and then she looked at the clock and it was 8.15 and she decided to get ready.

She opened her closet and looked at her clothes. She wanted something slutty. Something sexy. Something that would swallow her little body and wrap it up and present it. She had a tube top; made out of black latex and one size too small for her so she put it on and it really did make her  look good. And then she put some jeans on but they made her legs sweat so she changed into a denim skirt and she let her hair down and put eyeliner on and blurred it out and put cherry lip gloss on and then put on her platformed boots and looked at the time and it was 7.45 and so she sat on her bed and just waited till 8 so that she could arrive fashionably late to the car. Not only did she arrive late, but looking damn good. Lucky Alexander, that Dora had sat in the middle seat. God knows how he would have controlled himself. 

Car rides seemed a weak spot for Alexander. He couldn't help himself stealing a glance at her gorgeous face and everything gorgeous about her. but although he looked, he tried not to think about it. He touched Dora's leg instead. It wasn't as if he was imagining it was someone else's. Imagining? is that the word? What about wishing?