Darling Darlene.
At least to Dame her father, and her one friend that is.
But most knew her for what she really was...an egotistical bitch with underlying (pretty obvious) daddy issues and a kink for crushing spirits.
Not that she wasn't proud of t...
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2:52
Holy shit. No way it was this late. I'm sitting here guzzling down this apple pie and it's 2:5– . Calm down.
I glared at the clock stationed above the oven with something close to disgust. I could not believe the time. It had to be wrong. But yet again, it isn't the clock's fault that my father is a bigot who only ever thinks for the benefit of himself. Which is how I got home at around 2:00 in the first place.
Another stupid business banquet.
Yet again forced to attend. I had no interest in actually attending, but the outfits made up for it. I fantasize about the fabulous number covering my 5'10 frame tonight as I put down the plastic fork stained with my red liquid lipstick.
Perfectly matched to my hair of course.
It was one of my throw-together-quick outfits but that didn't make it any less fabulous. A silver satin gown, with red diamond straps that barely hung on to my dainty, freckled shoulders.
I could never forget the most important piece of any outfit, the shoes. Which were such an insufferable pain to pay for the beauty of the fire-engine red louboutin heels I wore.
Fuck this. Off you go. They clattered loudly on the floor, which is exactly where they would stay. I slip out of the white patent leather seat attached to the marble kitchen island, get up to turn off the overhead lights and began my trip to my room, just to almost twist my heel on the shoes I thought were just a painful memory.
This is a sign. Just pick them up. I knew I wouldn't. One thing about Darlene Styus, once I'm done with something, I am forever done with it.
I step over them and began the hike upstairs. As I'm in the middle of my journey, I pause, take a deep breath,
"SOMEBODY GET MY SHOES AND STORE MY PIE."
I knew someone in this god-awful unnecessarily large house, would hear me so I continued walking along towards my room.
And just like that, as I reach my door I hear the sound of one of the maids trip over what sounds like a red-engine loubutin probably on her way to store my wondrous creation.
Oh joy.
I skip quietly in my room without any thought to go to her assistance because, Darlene Styus doesn't do shit for Anybody.
Not when it counts anyways.
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