A taunting formal dinner dress lies before me. Just looking at it lying on my bed makes me feel severely underdressed. The cream colour of the dress seems to melt into my bedspread, making it almost impossible to tell where it ends and where it begins.
Oh how I am going to dread tonight, I hate dinners. I hate 'social outings'. I hate 'being social'. I hate people. Like, seriously, what from that can Dad not understand?
I can just see the whole dinner now; me, dressed in the cream dress sitting down the end of the table near Dad, Tom in one of his mini tuxedos sitting next to me, chatting up a stranger. Dad having a complex politic conversation with another member of the city council, while I sat there with my food, slowly devouring it. Eventually something would happen, usually me spilling food on myself or something and soon they would all mill out slowly while I sat there with a crimson face.
Hopefully no one will turn up. Hopefully the rain will keep them inside their cosy houses. Hopefully.
There is a soft knock at my door - probably the stylist come to make me look like a 'real lady' as Dad would say. Sure enough it is the stylist is there, make up bag in her hand ready.
"Hello there, Luna Parkson you must be." She says with an outstretched hand while welcoming herself into my room. For such a small built lady she sure does have bounding confidence. I reluctantly put my hand out to shake hers like two businessmen settling a deal.
"I am Ava, your stylist. If you haven't guessed already."
"Uh... um nice to meet you." I return, not wanting to stand there in silence.
"Where shall we start?" It really is a rhetorical question as she is attacking my hair before I can even answer or give one of my useless shrugs.
Ava seats me on a stool in my overly white ensuite. White tiles pave across the floor with white walls stretching high. From my waist up there is a large mirror with a smaller one on the next wall. It's sort of creepy sometimes, walking into your own bathroom then having a heart attack that there is another person in there, when really, it is just your own reflection.
"Oh dear. I think someone needs a shower before we can work on their hair." Her full lips part only enough to squeeze the words out before carrying her bags and cases out of the bathroom. Taking this 'someone' as me, I wait until my bedroom doors click shut before I get undressed for my shower.
The warm water is soothing on my skin and seems to get the blood flowing back into my hands. Didn't even know those were cold. Soon enough I am out of the shower with a hot pink towel wrapped around me. In the mirror my wet hair seems fifteen times darker than my natural colour of a platinum blonde. Not sure whether to dress in the dinner dress or just keep in the towel, I decide to dress back into my blue sweat pants and a white singlet - no risk there.
Without a warning Ava bursts back into my room. Goodbye knocking. What was she doing out there? Just waiting outside my door with her ear against it waiting for me to turn the shower off? What kind of creep has Dad hired this time... Nothing can beat the paedophilic man with binoculars and night vision goggles that used to watch me through my window, though. That one is unbeatable.
"This seems an improvement." She praises while lifting a bunch of my dripping hair up then letting it fall through her fingers.
"Thick, but I can work with it." Ava then adds.
"Wait... why are you starting to work on my appearance now? It's not even lunch yet!"
"Well, you can never be ready to early, darling. That's the golden rule."
YOU ARE READING
Blood Roses
Science Fiction"Tell me how I'm supposed to live with no air." Set in the not too distant future, Luna, the mayor's daughter is living life normally and exploring the new technology. Luna has always had high expectations, but what if she had to change? Once the go...
