Chapter 57 57- Do Not Accidentally Look Like His Minion In Matching Jewelry
LEXI
I sit there on my ass, still a little stunned. The Academy just UNLOCKED my door, swung it open and dumped me on the floor just to interrupt Blake and I from making out? What the hell? The indignity of it hits a second after the impact, my back pressed against the floor, the moment still buzzing in my head like static that hasn’t quite faded.
“You moved our rooms together and NOW you decide to split us up?” I complain, staring up at the ceiling like it might answer me. A little light by my bed flickers on, soft and deliberate, as if the Academy is pretending this is a perfectly reasonable hour and a perfectly reasonable situation.
“Are you trying to send me to bed?” I ask incredulously, pushing myself upright. I have to try not to laugh as my blanket flips open for me, neat and expectant, the mattress dipping slightly like it’s inviting me to cooperate.
“Gee thanks…” I answer sarcastically, even though the absurdity of it tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“Did you forget about all the hairspray and glitter in my hair? I am not going to bed until I have showered. I doubt that even you could clean up the glitter mess.” I challenge, lifting a hand to my head and feeling the stiffness there, the faint crunch of product and the unmistakable grit of glitter caught between strands. In response, the blanket flips back over, and the bathroom light and shower both turn on, the sound of water starting up immediate and smug.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I mutter, satisfaction warming my voice despite myself. I’m not really that annoyed at the Academy though. I might have been enjoying myself, my pulse still a little fast when I think about how close Blake had been, but there’s no need to rush things. I head into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a little tousled, pieces falling loose where they normally behave, my reflection slightly softened by the growing steam. I vaguely recall Blake’s hand touching it while we kissed, the memory more sensation than image, warmth, weight, the way his fingers had moved like he already knew what he was doing. Then I realise that I am still wearing the insanely valuable jewellery he loaned me. The fire diamonds gleaming in the bathroom light, catching and bending it, looking a little out of place against the plain sink and tiled walls. They feel heavier now that I’m aware of them, not just in weight but in implication. I carefully remove them, holding them in my hand, unwilling to put them down by the sink, just in case they fall in and end up down the drain or something. I don’t know if they would even fit. But I am not risking it. I take them back out and lay them CAREFULLY on my desk, adjusting them until they’re safely away from the edge, the light catching along their facets one last time. I’m tempted to go knock on his door and return them right now, the thought flickering through my mind with the image of him on the other side of the wall, but he’s probably showering and getting ready for bed himself. I don’t want to interrupt anything. So, I’ll just go and get cleaned up and I can return them first thing in the morning.
Once I am mostly glitter free and my hair is about ninety percent blow dried, I curl up in bed in some comfy pyjamas and it is wonderful. The sheets are cool against my skin, the fabric soft in a way that feels earned after the effort of the night. Sure, dressing up feels great. It’s nice to feel pretty and fancy sometimes, to see yourself reflected back as something deliberate and polished. But it is also a special kind of feeling when you get back from a night out, kick off your heels, pull all the pins out of your skull because somehow it feels like they are embedded in there, each one tugging faintly as it comes loose. Shower and crawl into bed. My legs and feet kind of ache and my head is throbbing a little because I'm tired, the pleasant sort of ache that comes from hours spent standing, dancing, existing fully in your body. But I feel good and really, really relaxed, the tension slowly draining away now that there’s nowhere left I need to be. The lights in the room are dim, but not off, casting everything in a gentle glow instead of sharp edges. I guess even the Academy can see that I still need a little time to wind down before sleeping. I’m sure by the time my hair finishes drying I’ll be ready to pass out. In the meantime, I pull out my phone and start looking through the photos I took tonight. My thumb moves lazily, the screen warm in my hand. They really are nice. Better than I expected, actually, clear, well-lit, full of colour and motion instead of the blurry mess these things usually turn into. I especially like the ones of Blake and I together. We really do look very opposite in the pictures, his dark hair, my light hair, his dark clothes, mine white. The contrast jumps out immediately, like someone arranged us that way on purpose. But then the gold in our outfits, the accessories, they make it look like we match. It threads the two of us together visually, tying the contrast into something cohesive instead of clashing. It’s really cute. The kind of cute that sneaks up on you after the fact. I know that there are probably people who are still AT the dance, but surely some people have shared some other photos by now… Right? I want to get a better look at more people’s outfits, see what everyone else chose, how they interpreted the night. I open the SCRI app and for once, it’s all pretty nice and positive. That alone feels unusual enough to make me pause. Tons of people have posted pictures of themselves with their friends, smiles wide and unguarded. A few people have even posted pictures of themselves with their assigned partners. Maybe a few people DID succeed in making new friends tonight. The thought settles warmly in my chest as I contentedly scroll through the pictures, letting myself just exist in the moment. Until I find one of Blake and I. Oh… Oh wow. Someone took a picture of us dancing together. His arms are around me and the way he is looking at me in that picture, It makes my breath catch just a little. I’m not looking at his face there, so I didn’t see it at the time, too caught up in everything else, but the look of just… I don’t know. Can an expression be hard and soft at the same time? It looks hard in that it is strong and intense. His jaw is set and he looks determined, like he’s decided something and isn’t about to be swayed. But his eyes are soft as he looks at me, focused and almost gentle, like nothing else exists in that space between us. Glinting like molten gold, perfectly matching our accessories. I love everything about the photo. The composition, the contrast, the feeling it gives me when I look at it. I immediately save it to my phone, my thumb decisive. Then, because apparently I like to suffer, I read the caption.
Looks like the dragon ‘bought’ a date. ;)
I sigh, the sound quiet but heavy. Bought… As in paid. I bet they thought they were so clever. The comments on it all seem to think so too, piling on with laughing reactions and little remarks that twist the meaning of something that was, very clearly, not that. Why do people have to be so awful? That is clearly a sweet and romantic situation and they are trying to spoil it. Why are they like this? How can doing that possibly make them happy or make them feel better about themselves? Well, I refuse to let them ruin my night. And I refuse to stoop to their level by responding to any of the messages. I don’t type a single word. I don’t react. I just breathe and keep my phone in my hand until the initial sting dulls. I guess it just kind of hurts that not even one person other than Blake tonight tried to speak to me or get to know me. The thought presses in quietly, more ache than anger. I know I was with Blake, so they might have been scared, but it’s not like he was being scary… He slow danced for goodness sakes! Ugh. So much for winding down. Maybe I should just delete the stupid app… But I won’t. I know I won’t. Because for some reason I still do care what people are saying about me. I’m not as hardened to it as Blake is. I suppose I might one day, but I’m not sure I want to. I like that I care what people think. It doesn’t make me think less of myself. I think it just shows that I value other people's opinions. Or at least I am open to considering them, except that lately they have all been dead wrong. Especially when it comes to Blake. He isn’t nearly as bad as they think he is.