The dirty girl and THE CEO

The alarm on her phone had been screaming for 20 minutes. Selena groaned and pulled the pink duvet over her head. It smelled faintly of perfume, spilled coffee, and yesterday. “Oh my God I’m so tired,” she mumbled into the pillow. Her room was pink. Pink walls, pink bedsheet, pink curtains. But “pink” didn’t mean clean. Clothes were everywhere. Heels under the bed. A wig on the chair. Takeout bags on the floor. A pink vanity mirror with lipstick stains and dust. The window was shut tight, and the air inside felt heavy. She finally sat up, hair a mess, long acrylic nails clicking against the duvet. The sunlight hit her face when she pushed the window open. Fresh air rushed in and she breathed it like it was her first breath. “God, I need coffee,” she said to nobody. The kitchen was worse. Plates in the sink. A pot with something burnt at the bottom. The counter sticky. Selena stood there in her oversized pink t-shirt and stared at it all. “Oh my God, who is going to cook for me?” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’m tired. Ah, I don’t know why I’m so lazy these days to do something for myself.” She opened the fridge. Empty except for water and a bottle of wine. “I was supposed to have meat,” she sighed. “But the money I was supposed to use for meat... I used it to buy that new bag. The pink one.” Her priorities were a mess and she knew it. But did she care? Not really. She found her “dirty kettle” — that’s what she called it — on the stove. It had tea stains and dust. She filled it with water anyway, turned it on, and made instant coffee in a mug that said _Princess_. No sugar. No milk. Just hot, bitter coffee. She sipped it standing up, leaning against the counter, then walked back to her room and collapsed on the bed. “I’ll sleep again. Just till night.” --- Night came fast. Selena woke up to her phone buzzing. 3 messages. _Club tonight?_ _Don’t be late_ _The usual place. 11pm_ She stretched. Her body felt heavy but her mind was already in the club. Lights. Music. Money. She dragged herself to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. “Girl,” she said to her reflection. “You look rough.” Time to fix that. She went to her closet. It wasn’t really a closet. It was clothes on hangers, clothes on the floor, clothes on the chair. She pulled out a dress. Silver. Tight. Too short. She sniffed it. “Oh my God, this clothes is kind of smelling,” she said, making a face. “But I have to add some perfume to it. The smell will be gorgeous.” She sprayed perfume until the whole room smelled like vanilla and regret. Then she looked at the dress and tossed it on the bed. “Tomorrow I’m going shopping to get a new dress for myself,” she decided out loud. “I don’t have time to wash clothes. This is Gen Z life. A Gen Z cannot be washing clothes with these long nails. I cannot wash clothes for myself.” She did her makeup in 15 minutes. Contour, lashes, red lips. Then she stepped into the dress, wobbled on her heels, and grabbed her pink mini bag. Before she left, she looked around the room one more time. Pink. Dirty. Hers. --- The club was loud. Bass in her chest, lights in her eyes. She didn’t remember much after the second drink. Just laughing. Just a hand on her waist. Just someone saying “I’ll send you something.” By 4am she was home. Drunk. Stumbling. She kicked the door shut, dropped her bag, and fell face-first onto the bed. Still in the dress. Still in the heels. --- Morning. Her head hurt. Her mouth tasted like coffee and last night. Her phone buzzed. _Alert: You have received NGN 1,000,000.00_ Selena sat up so fast her head spun. “One million?” She stared at the screen. “Oh my God. Yesterday I followed that man to the club and he sent me... one million.” She started laughing. Then she jumped up. “Let me use it to shop some clothes for myself!” Dirty house. Dirty dress. But clean bank alert. That was Selena. Two hours later she was at the mall. New dress. Three new dresses. Shoes. Bag. Then to the salon. “Do my nails,” she said, holding up her long acrylics. “And new hair. Something expensive.” By evening she looked perfect. Clean outside. Hair laid, nails fresh, new perfume, new outfit. She got home and unlocked the door. And the smell hit her. The house was still dirty. Clothes on the floor. Bags everywhere. Takeout boxes. She walked in and started using her leg to push things out of the way. “Oh my God, you are blocking my way,” she said to a pile of clothes. She dropped the shopping bags on the bed. The new, clean things next to the dirty, old things. Selena sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. Pink walls. Dirty floor. Expensive hair. Empty fridge. One million in her account. She sighed and picked up her phone. Another message: _Same place tomorrow?_ She didn’t answer yet. Outside, she was the "dati" girl. Perfect. Rich. Untouchable. Inside, this pink house was a mess. And so was she. But tomorrow she would clean up. Maybe. Or she’d just buy more perfume and pretend the mess wasn’t there. She lay back on the new dress, closed her eyes, and whispered to the ceiling: “God, I’m so tired.” ---