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I toss it back in and pick another cream dress with a red rose motif, holding it out the same way.
Tulip sleeves?
What has my life been turned into?
Not only do I not have a say in what is expected of me, heck, I never had that, but now, I also do not have a say in what I'm expected to wear.
These clothes are not meant to be stylish. These should not have been created in the first place.
My tears do what they love to do best. They sprint down my cheeks, having a go for it at their favorite hobby.
I want my room, my bed, my clothes, my body wash, and my shampoo. I want my life back. I want to go back home and just live like I used to. I want to go back in time and never move forward from there.
“Argh,” I yell and start to toss the clothes angrily on the floor, stomping on them as if they're the cause of my wrecked mind. I stomp and stomp until I begin hiccupping again from crying so hard. I just want to go back home. I drop to my knees, sniff, and start to pick the clothes up slackly and toss them back in the drawer.
I fish out the hideous sunflower dress . My life looks like the dress, beautiful chaos.
I pick a pair of emerald green ballet flats from the shoe compartment attached to the side of the drawer and walk to the bed with them, before going to the bathroom to freshen up.
Despicable life. Despicable men. All of them.
My stomach growls, reminding me of the last man to join the club of despicable men I now have in my life. That damn Orazio that ate my breakfast and drank my coffee. Everything makes me want to cry right now. I pout as I apply the body wash all over my now naked body. Lesson learned. If I want to make it through this phase of my life, I need to feed myself and feed myself properly. No matter if the food was prepared by my worst enemy. I don't care. The cake tasted too good and if I wasn't too mad at everything, I would have asked for more before coming up to my bedroom.
I crouch under the shower, too weak and light-headed to stand on my feet. I let the warm water douse some strength into me.
Done with bathing and drying myself up, but with the tips of my hair still dripping water, I lose the bathroom walls for the bedroom and start to get dressed quickly.
I wrap the kimono of the dress and secure it with the ropes by my left side tying them into a knot. And as the image of my father’s angry face flashes through my mind, I hurry up to slide into the ballet flats and exit the room.
With my luck, as I walk down the hallway towards the stairs, Benedetto is coming down from the stairs above. I try to hurry up, but I take one step too fast and my foot gets caught in the rim of the damn maxi dress in a way that makes me almost tumble over myself. I grip the wooden handrail of the staircase to find my balance and exhale sharply from the horror of rolling down the stairs, all in the name of avoiding the now number one on my list of despicable men.
“Rosaline,” Benedetto is onto me, his firm hand around my upper arm pulling me afloat.
I look down the stairs and turn my eyes to look at the handrail, realizing I wasn't actually holding it. It's Benedetto that's keeping me from falling over. And I can see how he is enjoying his knightly role of saving me in distress.
He saved me, so what?
“Get your hands off me,” I rip my hand away from him, and again I'm heading for a fall but he holds me back.
“Be careful, there,” he steadies me.
“Get off me,” I shove him hard against his bare chest.
“I'm trying to stop you from falling down the stairs.”
“Why?”
“Are you suicidal or something?” He narrows his eyes in a way that lines a furrow of worries on his forehead.
“Who wouldn't be in my case?” I am not. I love living no matter how shitty.
“Rosaline, if you need help…”
“I am not suicidal, I'm stronger than I let on,” I clip.
He and his stupid help that no one ever asked for. He wears his devil personality well. Everyone knows when the devil helps you with something, there's always a price to pay.
He exhales and moves away from beside me to stand in front of me, which is one stair below me.
