Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
The year before that, at the Christmas gala — well, I don’t want to think about that night.
The night of my ruination.
The night that left scars on my soul.
But this is the first time I’m making a ‘public’ appearance since that night. Exactly two years ago. My father is expecting me to clean up my reputation tonight.
I need to look beautiful, calm, poised and sophisticated. Smile at everyone. Laugh softly. Speak with elegance.
My mother called in a whole professional team to get me ready for tonight. She had chosen a light blue, silk gown and silver heels for me. My makeup and hair were done professionally. I even have pearls in my hair.
“You’re giving off Cinderella vibes,” the makeup artists had gushed earlier. “Flawless, I tell you. Everyone’s eyes will be on you tonight. You will be the center of attention.”
But this is no fairy tale.
And I don’t want to be the center of attention.
Except, I have to be.
Because my father says so.
Prim, proper and poised.
I made sure not to eat anything before coming here tonight. If my stomach is empty, I won’t be puking on my father’s polished shoes. The horror of that night still makes me sick when I think of it. And I think of it often.
Till this day, it haunts me. I still get disturbing, vivid nightmares from that night.
I can feel their eyes on, the heat of their stares burning through my gown. Everyone is openly staring and judging and they’ve already found me lacking.
I’m standing tall, but it’s not enough for them.
A pretty smile is plastered on my face, but that’s not enough either.
The humiliation from two years ago is still fresh in their mind, and nothing I do will ever be enough. So, it seems tonight is already a fiasco before it even begins.
My anxiety rears its ugly head, and I feel my stomach recoil. I hate the crowd, I hate people staring. It makes me want to dig a hole and bury myself there, where no one else can find me. Where they can’t see me or judge me.
There’s a dull pain starting in the back of my skull, and my head pounds with tension. Cold spider-like fingers race up and down my spine and I fight back a shiver. I hate this feeling.
Anxiety can be debilitating, and I hate that I’m constantly put into situations that worsen it.
I feel myself spiraling into self-doubt. Suddenly overly conscious about my looks — my weight, my face, my hair. Do I look fat in the gown? I should have weighed myself this morning, but I didn’t. I didn’t because I know my self-control is slipping.
I haven’t stepped on the scale for more than six months.
The last time I did, I had watched the red numbers in numbed horror. I almost fell back into old habits. Almost. It was hard to step away from the scale and to force myself in bed. Instead of going downstairs to raid the kitchen and come back to purge it all out.
The urge to binge-eat, and to purge afterward — it still breathes inside me, like poison in my veins. The urges haven’t completely disappeared. Rehab didn’t fix me or cure me. But my urges are dormant, silent for a while now, and I want to keep it that way.
From the corner of my eye, I see my father speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Hale. I caught sight of Grayson earlier, but I was swept away by my mother before I could go to him.
After an hour of introductions, fake smiles and formal chatting, I’m about to lose my sanity if I stay here a minute longer. My gaze sweeps across the ballroom, searching for Grayson’s tall frame. But he’s nowhere to be found.
Since the night of Halloween and the brief moment I spent in Grayson’s arms — things changed between us. It has subtly evolved into something…more.
That night, after Colton left me with a storm of emotions coursing through me, I found safety in Grayson’s arm. He was warm, and everything I needed in that moment.
His breathing calmed me.
His touch soothed me.
There was a tranquility in his dark gaze that made me feel seen and protected.
The first time I realized that something had changed between us was when I found a yellow lily in my locker. It was the Monday after that night.
And since then, there’s always a flower waiting for me every morning.
On Fridays, there are three yellow lilies. The first time it happened, it came with a note that said: One for Saturday and one for Sunday.
I never asked Grayson if it’s him and he never explicitly confessed that the flowers were coming from him either. We never spoke of it.
The yellow lilies were his quiet gifts to me.
I can’t help but wonder what the meaning behind all this is. His flowers and his silence about them. What does this mean for us?