Page 7 of Possessive Ink

Sighing sadly about having to get undressed, I slowly unfasten the belt, then unzip my dress, letting it fall into a mound of pink fabric on the floor as I step to the side. Scooping the dress up, I slide it into a garment bag, ready to go to the dry cleaners.

Opening my closet door, I kick my sandals inside, then strip out of my underwear and head for my bathroom. This apartment’s only redeeming quality is that each room has its own bathroom. Mine is, of course, filled with bottles of products, hair accessories, and is painted a gorgeous shade of baby pink. Reaching into the tub, I turn on the shower, waiting for it to warm before I step beneath the stream. Selecting a shower aromatherapy melt, I drop it to the floor at my feet, then inhale as the sweet smell of magnolias scents the steam and slowly starts to make the stress of the day melt away.

Once I’m clean and dry, I open my dresser and pull out a pair of white broderie anglaise pajamas. Slipping them on, I smile at my reflection before I sink to the floor in front of my mirror and start to brush the tangles from my wet hair.

My hair is naturally a pale straw-colored blonde, and as I slowly blow-dry it, the darker strands lighten until it’s a halo of yellow floating around my head. Grabbing my heatless curler rod, I clip it to the top of my head, then slowly twist my hair around it until I reach the end, which I fasten with a hair tie. Repeating it on the other side, I unclip the clip at the top and smile happily to myself. Right now, I look crazy, but when I unwrap it in the morning, my hair will be glorious, bouncy curls.

It’s late by the time my stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Opening my bedroom door an inch, I check that the apartment is still dark and quiet before I leave my room and head for the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I roll my eyes at the shelves of food all marked with huge white stickers with Avery’s name written on them in black marker.

Avery is, of course, a vegan, so I have no idea why she’d think I’d want to take her food. Tofu is not a food group I’m interested in. Crouching down, I pull out the Tupperware of leftover mac and cheese I made yesterday from the bottom shelf, remove the lid, and put it in the microwave.

If the kitchen smells like cheesy goodness in the morning, all hell will break loose, so I open the window and spray bleach cleaner over the sides and into the sink, hoping that the strong chemical smell will mask the rich, creamy pasta scent. When the microwave dings, I pull the Tupperware out and quickly mix the pasta with a fork before I spray some bleach into the microwave, then close it.

Carrying my food into my bedroom, I sink down onto my bed and turn on my TV while I eat. Picking the latest series of the spicy period drama I’m currently obsessed with, I settle happily into my pillows and eat cheesy, gooey pasta while I lose myself to forbidden love and the epic soundtrack.

Once I’m full, I carry my Tupperware and fork into the kitchen, rinse them, then place them into the dishwasher, hitting the start button even though it’s only half full because Avery will lose her shit at five in the morning if she has to wake up to a dishwasher full of dirty plates.

Spraying some more bleach onto the sides, I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and take it back to my room, climbing back into bed, and falling asleep while the on-screen characters fuck against a wall in the recesses of a beautiful garden.

The sound of my alarm drags me away from an epic dream, where a gorgeous stranger kidnaps me and I fall in love with him while he tries to convince me he’s not a monster by filling my cage with roses and fucking me to a dozen screaming orgasms on the petals.

Yawning, I rub my eyes and stretch my legs beneath the comforter. Forcing myself out of bed, I use the bathroom, then open my closet and smile as I peruse my outfits for something to wear.

The majority of my closet is pink, but I do have the odd outfit that deviates from my favorite color. Pulling out a pale blue and white sailor dress, I hold it in front of me and smile widely. The dress has a halter neck with a traditional sailor collar with white striped binding and a pale blue bow that hangs just below the V of my cleavage. The waist is super cinched, but then flows out into a full skirt that ends at my shins. Grabbing a white strapless bra and matching French knicker-style panties, I slip the dress over my head and smooth down the skirt. Sliding my feet into pale blue shoes with huge bows on the front, I unfasten my heatless curler rod and slip it free, tipping my head upside down to shake the curls into loose, bouncy tendrils.

Despite my obsession with clothes, I rarely wear much makeup, so it doesn’t take me long to slick on a little gloss and some blush. Grabbing a matching purse, I spritz myself with perfume, then leave my room and pretend I haven’t seen Avery, who is muttering angrily to herself as she cleans the counters in the kitchen.

Holding my breath, I sneak past her and out of the front door, sucking in a relieved breath the moment I’m in the corridor. When I push outside and onto the sidewalk, I exhale, then shake off the morning’s stress, forcing myself to smile, and flooding my body with all the feel-good dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins. To celebrate having survived another night with my insane roommate, I stop in at the patisserie and squeal excitedly the moment I reach the counter, trying to decide which delicious treat I’m going to order today.

“Hey, Lemon. How are you this morning?” Tori, the owner of the shop, asks as she slides a tray of something that looks like chocolatey heaven into the glass display case.

“I’m amazing. Thanks,” I tell her, trying not to be rude as I struggle to drag my eyes from the rows of delicious-looking treats.

“What can I get for you today?”

Sucking in a breath, I clasp my hands together as I try to pick.

“Not to toot my own horn or anything, but the croquants are delicious,” she suggests with a little laugh.

“Which ones are they?”

“These ones,” she says, pointing to the chocolate creation I’d just been admiring.

“I’ll have one of those then, and a flat white, please.”

Carefully sliding the cake into a box, Tori hums happily to herself as she makes my coffee, smiling widely as she passes it to me, then tells me the cost.

“Thank you,” I say once I’ve paid.

“Have a great day,” she calls.

“You too,” I call back.

With my box of cake in one hand and my coffee in the other, I walk the rest of the way to work, smiling and greeting everyone I pass on the way. Rockhead Point is a friendly town, so much friendlier than Bozeman. If I’d have said good morning to a stranger on the street there, they’d have probably told me to go fuck myself, but here, people make eye contact and smile as they respond to my greeting.

My steps stutter when I spot Wes’s car parked outside the retreat. I don’t dislike my boss—well, not really—but his being here means it’s unlikely I’ll get to actually do my job this morning. I’m sure he already has a list of errands he’s just too busy to do himself that he’ll expect me to do for him because he thinks that’s more important than me greeting guests and helping with inquiries.

“You’re late,” Wes chides the moment I step through the door.