POSH

Chapter 1

Argentina's POV

Screams. Shrill cries full of agony and despair reverberate against the walls of my mind, infinitely echoing down the stretch of miles in my head. It keeps on playing over and over again like a sick, horrendous song stuck on repeat. They're screaming. Who is it? I think it’s me. I look around and my eyes are met with the uneasy darkness. What on earth? Is the darkness moving? I feel like I’m underwater. I let out a breath and see bubbles float away. Huh, that's odd. I'm still able to breathe. Where am I? I look above me and spot a narrow tunnel of comforting warmth and brightness that dares me to swim closer to it. It’s a light up ahead. I cave into its taunts and start to swim towards it, slowly at first and then faster and faster with every stroke I take until I’m desperately clawing at the water like a starved animal. As I swim higher and higher, I begin the feel a change in the water. I think the water’s thinning out. Is that an engine? Wait, the light’s too fast. I need to-

My eyes flew open as I sat up, hungrily gasping for air as if my lungs had been drained from it. I'm not drowning anymore, I'm in my room, I thought in panic, trying to calm my racing heart while nervously wiping my clammy hands on my bedspread. My pulse was racing as if I had just run a marathon. Looking outside, the uncertainty and uneasiness of  my nightmare was forgotten, as if it had been washed away by the sheer beauty of the outdoors. It's too beautiful of a day to be dwelling on dark thoughts, I told myself.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts, "Something wrong miss?" my maid asked, her voice slightly quivering in fear.

Trying to calm my pulse, I took a deep breath in and out while closing my eyes before answering, "Of course not."

I stood up and spread my arms out similar to bird's wings.

"Would you be a dear and help me with my dresses now?" I impatiently asked my maid, regaining my usual brisk tone.

"Um, right away miss," the woman hurriedly replied, taking no time to rush to my side. My maid was a petite woman around thirty years of age. Her soft brown hair was tied back in a ponytail and light freckles dotted her cheeks. Her delicate hands held a feather-light touch when she started to undress me.

"Which dress would you like today?" she asked carefully to be mindful of maintaining a polite and non–assertive voice.

"The lace pearl gown. And please be careful with it this time; don’t have a repeat of what happened last time.” I curtly replied with a level, but firm, voice. “It's imported silk from Asia, the highest quality that they have to offer at that." I added shortly after, as if I were stressing how important it was.

I remembered the last time I had let her handle the dress. My maid had gotten it caught on the ebony bed frame; almost tearing a hole right through the luxurious material. What a disaster that would have been.

I critically eyed my maid as she sifted through my closet trying to find the extravagant dress. She was mindlessly sliding them one by one from the left to the right looking for it. How barbaric, I thought.

"Mayelle, please don't be so rough." I ruthlessly ordered.