Page 94 of Sour Lollipops and Sweet Nightmares
“Because I like my feet.” That and I had absolutely no balance in them.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “They aren’t that bad once you get used to them. Don’t you want a little more height?”
“Not if it means I have to wear high heels.” Mom made me wear a pair to the one and only school dance I went to. There wasn’t a lot of dancing, although I did fracture my ankle walking up the stairs.
“Ugh, alright, you can wear sandals then.”
That was all fine and dandy, but… “What sandals?”
Her mouth dropped as she stared at me. “You don’t have sandals?”
“No.” Should I?
“What do you wear in the summer?”
“Shoes.”
“Fine,” she sighed and walked into the bathroom. “I guess shoes will have to work.”
Thank God that was over. If she made me change my outfit one more time, I was going to beat my head against the wall. I think Rachel made me try on every item of clothing I had at least three times. Pants, skirts, and shirts littered my bedroom floor. It looked like a bomb exploded in my closet.
No social gathering was worth this kind of effort. Especially not a frat party that I didn’t even want to go to. However, it seemed as if girls never let their friends go out alone. At least according to Rachel.
While I could see the safety in numbers thing applying to places where alcohol flowed and everyone consumed it, I had nodesire to be Rachel’s safety. However, I owed her for pulling me out of the library yesterday, so I agreed.
Georgia is mine.
Those words had been haunting my mind ever since Issac said them. What did he mean by that? The obvious answer was something in a romantic context, which was ridiculous. I was someone to torment for Issac. Then again, he did assault me, but he had done absolutely nothing to indicate attraction since. So, what did “mine” mean?
The possibilities were terrifying, which would’ve been something I could’ve dealt with if I could’ve stopped thinking about it. But I couldn’t. No matter how much I tried to occupy my mind with other topics, those three words would not stop echoing in my mind.
Georgia is mine.
It got so bad that at one point, I almost convinced myself I had misheard him. That was the only thing that made sense. It was a tense moment with a lot going on. Rachel and I were trying to sneak away from the two angry men who were about to erupt in a chaos of violence.
I couldn’t have possibly paid attention to everything. When someone’s heart is pounding with adrenaline and fear like that, it is easy to mishear or misinterpret things.
Mind you, you could make an argument for the opposite. Issac was a threat, and therefore, my senses were on high alert around him. In a situation like that, attention to detail could very well be the key to survival.
When someone was in a room with a bomb, they didn’t suddenly stop watching the timer tick down. Issac was closer to a serial killer than a bomb, but the logic still applied.
“Time for makeup,” Rachel sang while coming out of the bathroom with my small cosmetic pouch.
I wished logic applied to her.
“I don’t need makeup,” I argued.
“No one needs makeup, but you wouldn’t wear an outfit without accessories, would you?”
Why, yes. Yes, I would. I didn’t even know what classified as accessories.
“By the way, green’s your color,” she nodded at my top. “You should wear it more.”
I hated this shirt. The color was okay—it was a little darker than my eyes—but it was too thin. Whoever thought satin a good material to make clothes out of had never experienced a winter blizzard.
“I usually wear a cardigan with this shirt…”
“No,” Rachel wagged her finger at me. “I did not buy you those fantastic jeans for you to cover your ass with a sweater.”
