Ch3rry B0mb
07-02-2010, 08:07 PM
"Coffee, miss?" The waitress seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, red hair pulled into a strict ponytail that pulled her overly plucked eyebrows high atop her forehead while painted lips twisted into a fake smile as she stood next to Leyla's table, coffee pot dangling precariously from her fingers. She blew a bubble with her gum before allowing it to pop then sucked the wad back into her mouth, catching the small pieces that stuck to her dried lips with her teeth.
"Oh," a small whimper that caught at the back of her throat. "One more cup would be nice. Yes, thank you," Leyla managed to stammer from between plump lips. The girl's blond locks fell loosely to frame her cherubim face then cascaded well past her shoulder blades. Noncommittally, she tucked an arrogant strand behind her ear as the waitress refilled her cup.
"Are you okay, miss?"
"What?" For a moment, terror stricken eyes stared up at the waitress and just as quickly, the emotion faded beneath icy blues. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," she nodded her head and motioned for the waitress to leave. But the truth was that she was not 'fine'. In fact, she was far from it.
Leyla glanced at the small black envelope on the table, it's silver letters that were scrawled across sent shivers down her spine and her fingers trembled as she reached for it. Hooking a pink painted thumbnail into its corner, she ripped the envelope open and held her breath as she read it.
Return to me.
Tonight at seven.
Remember, I know who you are.
Fail me
and the world will know, as well.
Leyla crumpled the paper into a fist as a fat tear rolled down her cheek. She bit into her lower lip as her entire body convulsed with self-revulsion. Eyes clamped shut as she fought the urge to empty her stomach's contents while visions of 'that night' plagued her memory.
That night had been two weeks ago. An annual masquerade ball, hosted by the Italian socialite Corlin d'Arbano, was said to have kicked off the careers of rising young models, males and females alike. So when Leyla's manager informed her that she had been invited, she was ecstatic.
"You'll be stunning, darling," Leyla's manager, Marjorie, had cooed into her ear as the woman pulled the strings of her corset tightly around Leyla's waist.
"Stunning? How can you expect me to be stunning if I look like a smurf? I can't breathe in this thing!"
"Just relax. Now, don't forget. If d'Arbano asks you to join him at the gaming table, the answer is no," Marjorie told her as she finished the last few adjustments of Leyla's attire.
"No? You want me to reject his invitation?" Leyla's face twisted in confusion, an almost rebellious look as she stared at Marjorie's reflection in the mirror. "Are you insane?! If he asks, I'm accepting. Now, how do I look?" She spun around to face Marjorie, pulling the feathered mask to her eyes. A silver tiara sat atop her elegant updo, while perfectly formed curls dangled to brush softly against bare shoulders. A white corset was worn over a length of sheer fabric that, while it covered her legs, allowed a muffled view of thong, lace garters, stockings and boots.
"Listen to me, Leyla," Marjorie had clasped the girl's face between her hands and forced her to maintain eye contact, "If you are invited, girl, you must decline. I cannot tell you why but you must trust me. Promise me you won't go with him, Leyla." Her manager's dark eyes held even darker secrets as she stared at Leyla.
"Gah, you're worse than my mother! Yes, of course, I promise I won't go with him, Marjorie. Can we go now?"
"One more thing," Marjorie held out the feathered wings for Leyla to slip into and, after a few adjustments, Leyla was ready for her chance at fame.
Or so she thought.
"Oh," a small whimper that caught at the back of her throat. "One more cup would be nice. Yes, thank you," Leyla managed to stammer from between plump lips. The girl's blond locks fell loosely to frame her cherubim face then cascaded well past her shoulder blades. Noncommittally, she tucked an arrogant strand behind her ear as the waitress refilled her cup.
"Are you okay, miss?"
"What?" For a moment, terror stricken eyes stared up at the waitress and just as quickly, the emotion faded beneath icy blues. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," she nodded her head and motioned for the waitress to leave. But the truth was that she was not 'fine'. In fact, she was far from it.
Leyla glanced at the small black envelope on the table, it's silver letters that were scrawled across sent shivers down her spine and her fingers trembled as she reached for it. Hooking a pink painted thumbnail into its corner, she ripped the envelope open and held her breath as she read it.
Return to me.
Tonight at seven.
Remember, I know who you are.
Fail me
and the world will know, as well.
Leyla crumpled the paper into a fist as a fat tear rolled down her cheek. She bit into her lower lip as her entire body convulsed with self-revulsion. Eyes clamped shut as she fought the urge to empty her stomach's contents while visions of 'that night' plagued her memory.
That night had been two weeks ago. An annual masquerade ball, hosted by the Italian socialite Corlin d'Arbano, was said to have kicked off the careers of rising young models, males and females alike. So when Leyla's manager informed her that she had been invited, she was ecstatic.
"You'll be stunning, darling," Leyla's manager, Marjorie, had cooed into her ear as the woman pulled the strings of her corset tightly around Leyla's waist.
"Stunning? How can you expect me to be stunning if I look like a smurf? I can't breathe in this thing!"
"Just relax. Now, don't forget. If d'Arbano asks you to join him at the gaming table, the answer is no," Marjorie told her as she finished the last few adjustments of Leyla's attire.
"No? You want me to reject his invitation?" Leyla's face twisted in confusion, an almost rebellious look as she stared at Marjorie's reflection in the mirror. "Are you insane?! If he asks, I'm accepting. Now, how do I look?" She spun around to face Marjorie, pulling the feathered mask to her eyes. A silver tiara sat atop her elegant updo, while perfectly formed curls dangled to brush softly against bare shoulders. A white corset was worn over a length of sheer fabric that, while it covered her legs, allowed a muffled view of thong, lace garters, stockings and boots.
"Listen to me, Leyla," Marjorie had clasped the girl's face between her hands and forced her to maintain eye contact, "If you are invited, girl, you must decline. I cannot tell you why but you must trust me. Promise me you won't go with him, Leyla." Her manager's dark eyes held even darker secrets as she stared at Leyla.
"Gah, you're worse than my mother! Yes, of course, I promise I won't go with him, Marjorie. Can we go now?"
"One more thing," Marjorie held out the feathered wings for Leyla to slip into and, after a few adjustments, Leyla was ready for her chance at fame.
Or so she thought.