“I'm sorry. At least you made it home tonight.” I let out a short, strained laugh, but he doesn’t join in. He’s just... staring at me. Extreme...y shirtless. Why aren’t I leaving? His stare is like holding me hostage. He’s definitely noticed I’m still standing here, half naked, and he takes a step toward me. I stare into his eyes, playing with the bottle in my hands until my own eyes start to wander. His thin cotton pants are hanging on his hips, and his --now that I notice-- very chiseled. After football I walked home with Greg. I told him that I was starting to feel ill and maybe wouldn’t go to the party. I thought if I sewed the seeds of me being ill then when I rang the guys later and said I wasn’t going it would be more believable. Greg seemed really upset and was almost begging me to go to the party. He said he had put alot of effort into his costume and he really wanted me to see him in it. As he said this he turned and looked right into my eyes and I realised he was. With one defiant glance up at her tormentor, Marie opened the book at random and started to read.To her horror, she’d selected the chapter where the Prince makes Beauty crawl on the floor at the inn and kneel at his feet while he eats. So much for not being embarrassed—although her voice started out strong, she hadn’t gotten through a paragraph before her face flamed and her throat dried up. Good Lord, this was not the kind of stuff she would have shared with anyone, let alone a strange man! . Heather took me into another room and for three hours, put warm wax onto legs, arms, chest, and all over, letting it cool, and peeling it off with excruciating pain! This went on for hours. When I thought she was finally done, she told me to lay on my back and spread my legs. She then studied my "zone" looking suspicious. "See, it looks fake, and everyone will know." I thought with some aspect of gratitude that I knew I wasn't a 'real girl' in the sense.Heather then spoke and said, "Wow, I.
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