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I hadn’t even told him about it, because I didn’t want to risk a fight about something that wasn’t going to happen.
But now here it was, and…
Speak of the devil. My phone buzzed, signaling an incoming call.
Clark.
“I’ve got to take this,” I told her, cutting off whatever else my agent was about to say as I switched over.
“Hi!” I squeaked out in an overly excited voice.
“Hey, baby. Ready for tonight?” he asked warmly.
My stomach churned just thinking about the party I was supposed to attend with him later that evening.
All those eyes.
My gaze darted to the mirror on the wall, tracing the lines of my body in the reflection, noting all the imperfections. All the things they’d all see.
All the things they’d think about me.
I studied the neat line of scars on my hip and swallowed my anxiety down. “Yep. Seven, right?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I sent a dress for you. Can’t wait to see you in it.”
“Perfect,” I whispered softly, squeezing my eyes shut as if that could take away the hot shame licking at my insides as I thought about how I’d look in that dress.
“I’ve got to jump into a meeting. I love you,” he murmured, in a voice that should have given me butterflies.
“Goodbye,” I whispered as the phone clicked, staring out the window of the tiny studio apartment I could barely afford. Clark knew it, too. He’d been asking me to move in with him for three months, but I’d always had an excuse.
How long until he got tired of my excuses…and then I was all alone?
I’d be all alone in L.A. though….
Waldo barked, as if he was offended by my thoughts.
I knelt down and buried my face against his soft black and white fur. “I’m not alone, am I, boy?” I cooed, a smile peeking at my lips as he lathered kisses all over my face. I stayed like that for a moment, soaking in the warmth of him before I stood up and glanced around the room.
My cramped studio apartment was a chaotic disaster. The exact opposite of the life I’d been forced to live after I’d been adopted. From the moment you walked through the door, it felt like you were diving into a whirlwind of colors, patterns, and creative clutter that would probably make no sense to anyone but me. Every inch of the small space was crammed with objects that spoke to my…eclectic personality.
The futon against the far wall functioned as both seating and my bed. Its cushions were worn, but I thought they still looked inviting, an assortment of throw pillows creating a nest where I often lost myself in books or daydreams.
Against another wall, a vintage record player stood proudly, surrounded by stacks of vinyl records collected from thrift stores and flea markets.
An old wooden coffee table, adorned with paint splatters from impromptu art sessions, acted as the centerpiece of my living space.
The kitchen area was compact, containing nothing more than a tiny stove, barely large enough to fit a single pot and a rusted old sink and mini fridge. Pots and pans were stacked precariously on open shelves, alongside an assortment of mismatched mugs and plates.
In one corner, a distressed bookshelf groaned under the weight of my extensive book collection. It was my personal library, filled with dog-eared pages and highlighted passages that had impacted my soul in one way or another.
There wasn’t a closet in here, so my clothes hung from a clothing rack. Piles of shoes were tucked away in the corners, each pair scrounged up from my favorite thrift stores.
Clark hated this place.
He hated the color and how much stuff there was.
He couldn’t understand that all I’d had when I’d gotten to that orphanage was a teddy bear. He couldn’t understand the need I had to surround myself with things that were mine.
