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“Manasseh has always been insatiable, vicious, a bad seed...” I can't tear my eyes away from her, capturing her shy smile and the way she moistens her lips whenever she thinks of him.
“Maybe...” her grin is momentarily stifled by the playful bite of her lower lip. “You've always been afraid of him, and all you knew was how to run,” the girl approaches, positioning herself between my legs, inching closer and closer, the cold touch of her skin, reminiscent of a lifeless corpse, sending a shiver down my spine. “But what if you let him, Becca? What if you stop resisting?” Her hand hovers dangerously close to my intimate area, causing me to instinctively arch my back, my head grazing the edge of the glossy bathtub.
The image of him from last night floods my mind, overwhelming my thoughts with a speed that surpasses the urgency with which he pressed himself against the round curves of her buttocks.
“I don't want him. And deep down, you don't want him either, right?” I whisper, yearning for answers.
“That's not true at all! Let him have you because that's what you've secretly longed for all this time,” her lips exhale a chilling breath so close to mine that it leaves me feeling lightheaded. “We both know it's what you desire.”
“Leave!” I scream, summoning my last ounce of strength.
“You want everything you saw last night, for him to do it to you too. I know this because I am you, despite how much you hate it,” her cold hands make contact with my chest. “The old Becca wants him just as much. Just once...” Her hands glide down her breasts, trailing towards her abdomen, and they continue their descent until they reach her lower abdomen. My entire body tenses, my head tilts back, and my eyes shut tightly. Just once, to have him here. Her hand effortlessly slips between my legs, and I tremble.
A strong sensation jolts through me, and I open my eyes, feeling the warm water trickling down my throat. I sit up, coughing. I'm still in the bathroom. I must have drifted off because I didn't even realize how the night had passed. That earlier voice must have been my inner self, which, quite frankly, is a bitch, always stirring up my nightmares.
I slowly step out of the tub, feeling the pain in my ankle with each careful stride. Wrapping myself in a white towel, I make my way to the bedroom. I find a box on the bed, with my name on it, and I quickly open it.
Inside the elegant matte black box, secured with a delicate red ribbon bearing the Vivienne Westwood logo, lies a black dress. My fingers graze its round cups, tracing down to the transparent corset that accentuates the abdomen, with broken edges on the corners. It smells new.
Is this what the message was about?
I suppose the summer dress exposes more skin, and suddenly I find myself hating the summer.
Nestled within the box, there is also a pair of black high-heeled sandals, adorned with sparkling stones along the ankle straps. As I set them aside, a dusty pink box catches my attention. Opening it reveals a carefully wrapped set of lingerie from Rigby & Peller, a prestigious London brand. They are beautifully packaged, exactly my size, completing the outfit I have to wear tonight at his stupid match.
The way the delicate lace cups lift and round my breasts, or the subtle way in which the lace panties cover just enough of my buttocks and intimate parts, leaving room to curiosity, both worry and make me swallow hard as I stare at my body dressed in the black lingerie.
I look different from what I'm used to. Is it because of the lingerie?
“You think you know everything, but you have no clue that with a dress like this, you don't need a bra,” I mutter, removing the delicate lace bra. “You're such an idiot,” I say, feeling a surge of confidence as if this small fashion detail somehow undermines Manasseh, the all-powerful idiot.
“That's what I was thinking as well” a low voice echoes from behind me.
“Aghhh! Are you a ghost or something? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I cover my breasts, shivering as my hair stands on end.
“I apologize,” Rosé takes a step towards the dress and hands it to me.
“Turn around so I can get dressed,” I urge her, and she silently obliges. “What's wrong with you? Did you grow up in the wild?”
“I grew up in an orphanage. I left a year ago. I'm sorry if I've bothered you in any way.”
My mind spins. It explains so much and at this moment, I feel like such a jerk for how I treated her.
No, I’m the one who should be sorry” I quickly slip my breasts into the dress and turn it around. “So, Rosé, what do you say we start fresh, as if we've just met? I'm not usually such a bitch, trust me. I'm much nicer than I look.”
“Sure,” the girl nods, her expression void of emotion as she gazes at me.
“How about a smile? Or a furrowed brow, or... something that lets me know if you actually accept me or if you simply can't stand me.”
“Can I do your hair?” she asks, her eyes focused on my still damp locks.
“Yes, go ahead,” I sigh in relief and take a seat in front of the mirror.
She starts combing my hair, reaching for the box of hair accessories, and moving closer to me.
“What brings you here, Rosé?” I can't help but ask.
“I work here,” she replies curtly.
