Page 10 of Reckless Roses
My only response is a tearful hiccup.
“We’re just going as friends, I swear. We’re attending with a large group of the guys on the baseball team and their dates. I won’t even slow dance with her. I’ll leave right after the dance, and I’ll come see you, okay?”
I don’t bother responding to that. I only ask, “Why couldn’t someone else take her? Why’d you have to volunteer?”
“Well, all the other guys are taking their girlfriends. I am the only one who doesn’t?—”
“Good night, Zach. Please don’t come over after the dance.”
I hang up before he has the chance to finish his sentence or attempt to convince me I’m overthinking things. He said exactly what I needed to hear: he very muchdoes notsee me as girlfriend material.
I drop my phone onto my bed, turning to face the full-body mirror hanging on the back of my door. August was right; this dress makes my tits look amazing. It’s tight enough at the bust that they swell above the neckline, and satin sweeps across my waist, gathering on the left side, accentuating my minimal curves. A high slit at my upper thigh shows off my skin and my strappy black heels, while the other side of the dress freely flows to the floor like liquid.
I kind of wish it were purple. An amethyst tone would be beautiful, but even in red, I look phenomenal.
Fuck Zach Hayes.
As my eyes raise to my face, I notice my eyeliner running down my cheeks, ruining the carefully crafted makeup I worked so hard on, and then I remember, it doesn’t matter anyway. I was stood up. My first and only school dance, I was stood up by my date. Not just my date, but the boy I’ve been in love with since the age of twelve.
My hands clench as I fight the urge to start throwing shit. Instead, I stomp over to my bed and fall back onto it. Sending a text to my mother, I let her know I won’t be attending prom and not to come into my room until I emerge. After a few meltdowns around the age of thirteen, Mom and I came to an understanding that I need to rage alone, and when I’m ready to talk, I’ll make itknown. She has done a good job of giving me space when I need it ever since.
Thankfully, Everett already left to pick up his date, and Leo is with August down at the boardwalk today. I won’t have to face my brothers tonight, but Zach will have to face Everett at the dance, and part of me kind of hopes Everett hits him for bailing on me.
As I settle into bed, still clad in my dress and shoes, my tears come in a free fall, soaking me in rejection. I pull my poetry book from my bedside table and begin scribbling down my emotions. If nothing else, I can create art with my pain.
Exhaustion stingsmy eyes as I squint at the book in my lap. I swore I was only going to read a few chapters and then I’d finally change out of my prom dress, accept the night for the bust it was, and go to bed.
Except, it has been four hours since I started reading, I’m nearly seventy percent through, and the enemies just kissed for the first time.
I’m dead set on finishing the book before I let myself fall asleep—until I hear a knock against my bedroom window, followed by the chime of my phone.
I check my phone first, seeing a text message from August:
August
Don’t freak out. It’s me.
I scramble from under my comforter and lean over the foot of my bed, where it rests near my window. Reaching as far as I can, I draw my blinds and throw the window open. I can just make out his silhouette a few feet away.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I heard your night didn’t go well.” I can’t really see him, but his voice is clear as day, and it feels like comfort. “I wanted to check in on you.”
“I’m okay.” I shrug as I move off my bed, leaning my upper body out my window.
“You’re still wearing your dress.”
I glance down at my chest, realizing I am still, in fact, wearing my dress. “Well, my tits look great, so…”
He laughs, stepping up to the window so I can see his face more clearly. August is handsome in a magical kind of way. His features don’t look like they belong to real people, like they should instead be reserved for celebrities and models we can convince ourselves don’t actually exist.
His boyish smile shines even in the dark, emerald eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Do you want to go somewhere? Get out of the house for a bit?”
I was tired a few moments ago, but fresh air against my cheeks and the sound of my best friend’s voice hits like a shot of espresso. I’m wired and ready to go anywhere with him.
“Sure, let’s go.” I pull back inside my room, running to my closet to swap my heels for Converse before sneaking back over to my window and reaching my hand out for August to grab.
“You don’t want to change first?” he asks.
