Lost Souls

Chapter Three: His Fiancée?

Aubrey's POV:

"No, too much black," Megan sighed from my bed, eyeing my outfit in the mirror, which consisted of a black band t-shirt, a black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, and black combat boots.

"But this is the best I can come up with," I protested, "And besides, we are going to a concert, not a job interview," I pointed out.

"Must I remind you that we are going to the Johnny Depp's concert? He won't notice you if you are disguised as the night sky," a flush crept up my face in response to the latter.

"What makes you think he will-" she interrupted me by walking over to where I was standing. She eyed me up and down, which was quite funny to watch, considering the fact that I was well over half a foot taller than her. She went over to my closet and began digging.

"You have the body of a model, you should show it off more," she suggested, not taking her eyes off the two tops she was holding up. I couldn't help but cringe at her proposal.

"Yeah, no," I clarified. She ignored me as she eyed the two options, deep in thought. She held up one of them in front of me, before doing the same to the other.

After a good couple of minutes, she chirped happily, "This is the one!"

I groaned. "No, that is not the one! I hate that top!" I was referring to the silky scarf top she currently was waving in front of my face, ecstatically. It was showing too much skin for my liking, making it a very risky top. I didn't even know I still had it in my closet, I thought I got rid of it the same day it was gifted to me one year ago, from my mother.

My mother constantly bought me expensive designer stuff and all types of shenanigans she couldn't even afford, in a futile attempt to make up for her absence in my life. After my parents divorced, she couldn't bear to stay another day in our house, so she left, not looking back once. I was left a devastated, heartbroken thirteen-year-old. She moved states and started a new family, a new life. Now, six years later, she was living happily ever after with her new husband and his three kids from another marriage, not even once caring about visiting her only child that she had left behind with her father. My father wasn't exactly better either. His way of coping with the divorce was to drown himself in work. At rare occasions, he would come home, but not singlehanded. He would take home all kinds of women from work, leaving me ridiculed, disgusted and disappointed. Before college, I was home alone most of the time, moping around the house, wondering what I had done to deserve absentee parents. And now that I started college, the house was more or less empty, apart from most weekends, when I would stay home and off-campus.

I shook my head lightly.

"Why?!" she exclaimed, "You will look great in it! Just try it on, please?" she pleaded. Wanting her to stop her incessant whining, I rolled my eyes and took the top from her. "Fine," I huffed.

"But wait, put this on too," she told me, handing me a pair of my light-washed mom jeans. I complied, but not before giving her an eye roll, and began changing into the clothes she had picked out.

"There's something wrong," Megan rubbed her chin, eyeing me up and down in the full-length mirror when I was wearing her choice of top and jeans. Tied in the back, the pink and colorful scarf was wrapped around my torso as a top, while the jeans hugged my long legs.

I just stood there uncomfortably, before her eyes lit up and said, "It's your shoes!" I looked down at my black combat boots. She was right, they didn't match my outfit.