Mount Reform: a military school for the "troubled." That's where Keeley Harris has been for the past five years since her bad and brooding mafia boss father sent her away. After getting kicked out, Keeley returns home to a situation and a family sh...
What in the actual fuck, am I doing? Am I- am I flirting?
Hell, I'm flirting with some extremely good-looking, Italian man I just met. But my God, that boy was made of something else entirely.
The first thing I had noticed about him were his eyes. Within those dark ocean colored, sparkling orbs, I could see every single emotion that he was feeling so freely, and from that, I could see how I affected him just as much as he did me. His strong frame towered over me as I stood in front of him, but it let me see every fine detail on his face. His sharp jawline was shadowed with the smallest amount of stubble and his nose was slightly crooked from what I'm guessing to be a few broken noses. His tousled ebony hair was slightly out of place from where his hands had probably run through it. He was captivating. From the way he simply just carried himself to how he appeared to wear his heart on his sleeve, it made me want to know everything about him. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare the hell out of me.
I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, and I look like I just walked off a horror movie scene with the amount of blood on my body. I look like a madwoman. My hair was wild and matted with dark crimson, and my face wasn't much better. A deep purple and blue bruise had formed over my right eye and temple from where I had taken a hit. I couldn't see the side of my neck due to my hair and all of the blood. My clothes were sticking to me and were damp with various bodily fluids. The only thing I liked about my appearance was my eyes. For the first time in what seems like forever, they look alive. I'm a hot mess, but I feel good, and I'll take that any day.
I peel the blood-stained clothes off of my body and set them in a different hamper, knowing damn well I'll have to send them to my father's dry cleaners. I step into the hot shower and let out a small moan at how good the water feels on my skin. I let my muscles relax as I scrub my body till the water is no longer red.
I wrap a towel around my aching body, brush my teeth, and walk to my closet. I have no idea as to why I suggested going to that French restaurant. Not only is it expensive, but it requires me to dress nicely, and as of right now, I would really prefer to just put on a pair of sweats.
Much to my inner-protest, I slipped on one of my favorite black dresses that reached mid-thigh and had long, mesh, black-lace sleeves. Between the deep, scalloped neckline and the way it flowed, I felt undeniably pretty. I paired the dress with a pair of thick black heels and a simple silver coin necklace Brady had given me for my birthday last year.
I quickly pulled a few pieces of hair back into a twist and secured it at the back of my head, followed by applying makeup so I could hopefully hide how bad my bruise actually was. My neck looked fine, but I found a large enough band-aid and stuck it to where I had been grazed.
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I looked at my reflection in the mirror and stared at the girl who I saw. She was glowing. The way she stood tall only added to the confidence that was radiating off of her. This girl looked like no one could stand in her way. It had been a long time since I felt this way. I did something good today, even though it did require killing people, but knowing that I made my father proud warmed me, and for just a second, made me feel like I actually belong here.
