~* Bella *~
Jesus freakin' Christ, you have got to be kidding me?
I stared at my reflection in the 3 way mirror, horrified at what stared back. My mother had somehow persuaded me to let her choose, and I was fast regretting it. I was all dress and no Bella! The hideous creation weighed a ton, no doubt due to the endless layers of satin, each one encrusted within an inch of its life with sparkles, beads and bows. Fucking bows. I sighed. She either had a bad sense of humour or terrible damn taste, but either way I'd seen enough.
In an attempt to make it back to the fitting room unscathed, I yanked the huge skirt up around my knees and waddled rather ungraciously back to my cubicle, huffing all the way. After 20 minutes of wrangling with what was quite possibly the world's ugliest dress, I managed to navigate my way out of the satin-trap and in to my old jeans. I yanked my hoody over my head and grabbed my bag, fumbling with the hanger before eventually losing patience and giving up. I trudged to the front of the store and dropped it on to the counter.
"How did you get on? Did you find the perfect gown here today?" I managed to stifle a laugh and resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the perfectly groomed woman who was beaming at me as she packed some shoes back in to their box.
I smiled. "This one will do I guess. Thanks."
It took her mere seconds to hang the dress, her expression slightly puzzled. "Your mother has already paid for the gown, but any alterations will cost extra. Are you requiring any adjustments to it?"
"It will be fine as it is, so that won't be necessary. But thanks. Um...I'll be back to collect it next Friday."
She simply nodded, still wearing a slightly confused expression. I made a hasty exit and pulled my sunglasses down on to my face.
It was a scorching summer so far, with temperatures only set to get higher in the coming weeks. I pulled a bottle of water from my bag and my cell from my back pocket, dialling my mom's number as I gulped the last of the water from the bottle.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mom, it's me."
"Bella!! How are you? Have you tried the dress? It's beautiful isn't it? I fell in love with it the moment I saw it! You'll look like such a princess!"
As much as I hated the dress, I knew she would have been disappointed if I'd chosen something else. I lied, secretly hoping that I'd be spared the fiery depths of hell because my intentions were at least honourable. "Wow, take a breath Mom! I'm fine. I've just left the store, the dress is perfect. Thank you! You shouldn't have paid though because I..."
She cut me off. "Shush! As your parent, I'm entitled to do what I like, so it's not up for negotiation!"
I smiled to myself – bad taste or not, she always meant well. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Thank you, really."
"My pleasure! So are you excited?"
I swallowed hard, running my hand through my hair. "Uh.....well I guess so? I mean sure." I hesitated for a second. "Hey, Mom, I..."
"Bella, honey, I'm sorry but I have to go. There's another call coming through. I think it's Phil. Stay safe, I love you, and I'll speak to you soon, okay?"
"Okay, I'll call you soon. Love you, too, Mom."
I made it back to the car a lot quicker than I'd realised and fished the keys to the silver Volvo out of my bag. I slid in to the drivers seat and turned the air conditioning on before leaning back to feel the cool air blow against my face and chest. My phone vibrated in my pocket.
You'd better be planning to come visit us soon, or I'll set my gnomes on your workaholic ass! Don't make me do it! Al x
Don't let them hurt me, I'm sorry! Soon, I promise! B x
God, for someone so small she was so damn persistent!
I hit play on the iPod and slipped the car in to reverse, cruising the short drive home. I pulled in to my usual spot, noticing Jake's truck in the space next to it. He was home early again, which meant he'd probably attempted to make something resembling dinner. When it came to cars and bikes, he was a master, confident and skilled. When it came to the kitchen and food, it was a different story. He was a complete disaster, much to my amusement, and tonight would be no different.
It was far too hot to climb the nine flights of stairs to the apartment, so I took the elevator, arriving relatively sweat free and not gasping for breath. I left myself in, dropping my bag by the door and kicking off the flip flops, throwing my sunglasses on to the counter.
"Hey Chef, what's for dinner?"
"Hey Bells!" The flustered look on his face was not only priceless, but also a dead giveaway, and I smiled at what I knew was coming "Burnt pasta if I can manage to get it off the bottom of the pan!"
Jake, as a man, was many things. Predictable was unfortunately one of them. I knew that, when dinner was over and done with, he would get up from the table and throw his ass down on the couch to watch a game on his pride and joy – the 60 inch flat screen that dominated the lounge. I hated that damn TV. The day he decides to clear the plates, wash up the dishes, and clean the mess in the kitchen will be the day I march him in to the hospital and demand to know precisely how hard he hit his head and whether the change would be a permanent one.
He always drinks the same beer; he goes to the gym at the same time, on the same days and does the same workout. He always has a protein shake for breakfast, and he always takes a cheese sandwich for lunch. He only calls his dad on Wednesday nights, and only ever at 7.00pm. We only ever have sex twice a week...if you can call it sex, that is. I'm sure he would, but to me it's beginning to feel more like a chore. Where's the fun in sex you can set your watch by? I find myself lying there wondering what to make for dinner tomorrow night, what colour I should paint my nails, or if the laundry needs doing. If we go out, it's the same bar, club, theatre, or restaurant. Even our fights are the same, regardless of what we're arguing about. He'll always tell me I'm being ridiculous, and he'll always stay at Seth's that night. I could bet on Jake and never lose. That knowledge used to make me feel safe. Now I'm not so sure.
The apartment we shared was a joint rental. He wanted us to live together, but I hadn't wanted to commit to buying a place of our own just yet. It was the only other option available to us. We rented the pokey little space on an annual lease, committing ourselves to only 12 months at a time. So far we'd managed 18 months together. I mean, we argued every other day over the littlest things, but, other than that, it was working out quite well. We'd not killed each other...yet anyway.
The apartment, like most things, was of Jake's choosing. I had been holding out for something with character, a place that was small but homely, but instead we ended up with a typical complex apartment. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living area. All tiny, all square, and all painted magnolia. At first glance, you'd easily be fooled into thinking that Jake was the sole inhabitant. The truth of the matter was he was just incapable of keeping the place tidy and picking up after himself. The coffee table covered in car magazines, the DVD collection stacked with nothing but action movies, the bedroom floor littered with his laundry, the towels he'd used dumped in the middle of the bathroom floor, and the sink splattered with toothpaste. A few months ago, I'd tried to ignore the mess. I went a week without cleaning, hoping that he'd realise that (a) he was being a slob and (b) I wasn't there to pick up after him. I was his girlfriend not his mother. It didn't work, which pissed me off no end. For the sake of my own sanity, I went back to cleaning up the mess he left behind him each day. He might be happy living that way, but I wasn't. The "hit-by-a-hurricane" look was not a good style in any home, especially one as small as ours.
Then there was that fucking TV. I resented it, a lot. Not only did it take up twice as much room as me, but it was the object of Jake's affections, getting at least 80% of his undivided attention. The remaining 20% was split between me, work, family and friends, sex, beer, and food. I swear, if given the chance, he'd take it to bed every night, no questions asked. One night, during a routine fumble before bed whilst Jake was apparently getting his kicks, I was plotting sabotage. It had crossed my mind on more than one occasion – a knife to the plug, a bottle of nail polish on the remote, a glass of wine down the back of it. The fact I was horribly accident prone was no secret, and it seemed that my clumsiness would for once be a help instead of a hindrance. It would leave me and my real intentions completely unsuspected. Throw in a well practiced, wide-eyed apology, and I was home free! All I needed was the perfect opportunity.
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