Obsession

chapter 7

★Nina★

I could read the look on her face. A lot of questions must have been running through that head of hers. I cracked up laughing mockingly.

"I've got the drama, don't forget that," I teased.

Her face remained pale, but I could see the confusion diffusing into thin air. I rolled my hips, pushing myself closer to her, held her hands and rubbed them softly.

"It's an old man. Not too old, though."

"Don't scare me next time. I thought I was dead already," she smiled.

That smile. The one that drives everything else away. She is my best friend and my alter ego. She is everything I wasn't. And a lot of times, I feel a tinge of jealousy—I'd confess.

I leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. I could feel her breath when I did, at peace like the one of a baby.

"Can we get back to that?" I pointed at the tons of clothes lying without a choice on the floor.

She nodded, her head tilting back and forth like a three-year-old child. It was my turn to do the picking and sampling. I picked up the clothes one after the other, observing them carefully before throwing them at her. We finally got the perfect one.

A red dress. A slit by the side that goes all the way up to the thigh. A type of dress Klein never allowed me to put on when we dated, while he was out cheating with a girl who literally wore lingerie.

My head kicked on, remembering it. I just breathed and raised the dress properly.

"This one."

She grabbed it in one jump and rushed over to the standing mirror at the end of her room. She placed the dress against her body to see how it fit. Her hands ran across the slit until they stopped, her teeth chattering like she lost control. The little girl in her always surfaces in moments like this. The one who always wanted a magic wand to change everything, but it never worked. The one who believes love changes everything. But I wished I didn't f**k with that. Love makes you the worst.

She rushed into my arms, pulling me back from my thoughts. One hardly believes I'm the younger one. It's just the number. I deal with this, while she deals with my silly pranks and dramas.

My palms held back from embracing the hug, but she held me tightly. My eyes glued to those drawers where her stash always stayed.

She looks this happy, but she still pumps herself with that.

"Very weird," I said out loud, and she pulled away.

"Weird? I guess I was just too happy," she muttered.

I stayed mute. The right words weren't going to come anyway. She pushed aside some of the clothes with her legs and bent over to arrange them back.

I told her I couldn't stay any longer and bade her goodbye.

"Have fun tonight," I hummed and left, closing the door behind me. I heard the lock click, then nothing else.

I found my way out of the house and hopped into my car. My keys jangled by my side pocket while I searched for them inside my purse. I hissed when I found them, turned the engine on, and zoomed off without taking a glance back.

I was still driving when my phone buzzed. Three texts from Mr. C.

"Can't do without me," I smiled.

I tapped on the message, and it only bore the exact location where I met him days back. Then, "Come."

I drove as fast as I could until I got there. She's got Dylan, and I've got Charlene. You snooze, you lose.

Wait. Am I jealous again? No, I'm not.

I shrugged it off and got out of the car. Charlene is a man who doesn't like to talk a lot. He despises an inquisitive fellow, so I never asked what he never said. A mayor candidate.

I better not f**k this up. I slipped my hair back into the car and dropped the small mirror above the visor to apply more lipstick. I pressed my lips together before grabbing my purse.

His personal assistant was already waiting at the door. I could feel my head stomp with strong nerves. I maintained my composure and walked like I owned the whole world, flipping my hair strand each time with my fingertips.

I walked to his table. His smile glowed at me from the distance. I dropped my purse on the table, drew a seat, and sat.

"Mi Chiquita, ¿cómo estás?" he asked casually in his Mexican accent.

He doesn't look like them, but he speaks so damn well like one. I didn't ask—it wasn't needed.

"I'm fine," I responded softly in my own accent.

He moved his hands across the table just to take mine.

"Will you do anything for me?" he asked.

That sounded a bit off, but I didn't give it much thought. I traced his fingers on my palms while he locked his gaze on mine.

"Yes," I said, breathless.

That feeling felt like I had just sworn to some kind of oath. But I didn't care about that.

"Good," he smiled.