Wicked Love | √

Eleven

I stare at myself in the full length mirror in my childhood bedroom. The custom floor length dress I wear fits me perfectly. It's not too tight to show off my curves in an unladylike fashion, but it still hugs my body in a flattering manner.

Just how my mother likes and my father won't disapprove of.

The velvet fabric wraps around my chest to create a sweetheart bodice with off the shoulder cuff like sleeves. The fabric is dark but when it hits the right light the forest green shines through and reflects in my eyes.

There was a slit initially in the dress that my mother of course had mostly closed because in her eyes it isn't appropriate to be showing off that much skin. My fingers graze against the golden pendant around my neck, the only piece of jewelry I'm wearing tonight, and without a second thought I grab the nail scissors from my makeup bag and clip through the thin threads until the slit is back open all the way to the top of my thigh completely revealing my leg.

A satisfied smile stretches across my nude painted lips and my heart races in excitement because I know this will anger my mother, and I know my father will shoot me a look of severe disapproval but I won't care. And they won't say anything for the night at least.

Because it's Aiden's birthday party.

Not mine. His. We may be born on the same day, exactly a year apart, and today may be my birthday as well but we aren't celebrating me today. Only my brother.

We celebrated me last night with a small family dinner. Intimate as my mother called it in attempts to make me feel somewhat special compared to my brother's big extravagant party being thrown in his honor.

September twenty-fifth. Mine and my brother's birthday. But today we are only celebrating Aiden with a full on black tie party with a live band, open bar, and cirque performers.

No matter that it's my twenty-first birthday and simply his twentieth.

But I shove away the bitterness that threatens to overwhelm me, and I force myself to take in this singular moment. My free hand that's not still holding onto the scissors grips my necklace and let's the power of Joan of Arc race through me until I feel strong enough to walk out this door and not give a fuck what anyone else thinks.

Well at least for the night.

I toss the small scissors onto my dresser and walk out of my room letting the Christian Louboutin heels my mother just bought me click against the marble floor. The band downstairs has just started to play and guests begin to wander into our house decked out in expensive black tie attire.

I pause for a moment at the top of the grand staircase watching the party begin and hating the way resentment coils within me making me slightly tremble with concealed anger.

With a tentative and uneven breath I graze my freshly manicured fingers over the ornate handrail as I descend the stairs with my head held high and my back straighter than a steel arrow.

I refuse to look weak at this party or receive any pity looks from the guests. I will support my brother with a perfect smile but also with a drink in my hand. Or maybe two.

As soon as a waiter passes by I snag a glass of expensive champagne and toss it back in a single gulp. The glittering bubbles take over my mouth and tingle while going down my throat until they begin to warm my body.

My eyes take in the entryway and the beautiful flowers that fill the space as well as multiple linen clothed tables that are already covered with perfectly wrapped presents. The large banner signifying that this party is for Aiden, and not for me, is hanging high near the chandelier with sparkling calligraphy. A sour taste begins to grow within me, but another waiter passes by and I stop the feeling with another sip of lavish bubbles.