Page 15

Condemnation: Declaration of someone’s guilt.

I s anyone truly innocent?

“Girl…” Sasha said for the fiftieth time tonight, adjusting her boobs in the mirror underneath my bathroom vanity. She hadn’t let up on me since leaving the café at school. “I know for damn sure that…discussion with Mister Professor Hottie wasn’t about a silly ketchup stain!”

She quickly glanced at my reflection, her eyes carrying enough condemnation for an entire army, and returned to layering on dark mascara.

Scoffing, I ignored her, adjusting my boobs. This outfit was squishing them to holy hell.

God, I looked like a corpse.

White made me look like a shrunken ghost as it was, and this horrible rock-textured vintage dress had me blending into my fucking wall.

“Fallon Jane Summers,” Sasha yelled, poking me in my side boob. “I demand to know what the fuck that showdown was about!”

I sighed, rubbing the sore spot.

“And why the fuck was Professor Hotness’s shirt in your locker? I need answers, woman!”

I grimaced, my nose wrinkling at the crusty black shirt I knew was sitting on top of my books inside my backpack.

“How did that fucking dick bag even get my locker combo?” I mumbled.

She facepalmed her head and angrily sighed. “Screwed the lunch lady? I don’t know! But that isn’t the important part here, Fallon.”

“I don’t know, Sasha,” I said, honesty pouring out of me at this point. I was exhausted and hadn’t even left the house yet. “I don’t know how his shirt got in my locker, okay? I don’t know.”

She narrowed her eyes at me.

“What was on that note you hid from me?”

I blushed, my eyes diverting to my jacket pocket, where the note was hidden away. Reading his words earlier made me freeze, my entire body turning liquid.

I prefer your mouth to clean up the mess you made, Little Voyeur.

Till next time,

P.M.

I shook my shoulders, the fabric on me stretching to the point of ripping. I was all sweaty again, and this damn dress was sticking to me.

“It was nothing,” I lied. “A stupid prank letter from some admirer.” That was the truth, and as much as she was getting from me.

Sasha grabbed the black lipstick and smeared it onto her full, gorgeous lips.

“Babe, you know I love you, right?” she said, standing from the vanity and walking over to me with a sour look on her face. “Which is why I can’t have my girl walk into a party looking like this.”

I couldn’t even breathe in this damn dress. She was right.

“Your twat perma-boyfriend will have to get over it because you need an upgrade. I mean, it’s a horror party, but you’re like truly scary, not ‘whore-er.’ scary.”

I tried to sigh, and the tightness in my chest and stomach solidified that she was right.

“Besides, if you go in, you may end up becoming a corpse, after all. Can you even breathe, girl?”

I let out a shaky breath, the fabric pulling to its max. Sasha shook her head, walking over to the row of drawers next to my vanity area and pulling out my craft scissors.

“Stand still so I don’t slice your delicious tits off, babe.”

I followed her instructions because I was rather attached to said titties. Planting my bare feet on the plush fur rug on the bathroom floor, I sucked in a breath. The coolness of the metal scissors made goosebumps fly over my skin.

She cut the dress down the center of my breasts, the dress busting open and freeing my cleavage and my breath.

It left a huge V-cut down to my navel.

“Uhh…now I’m just a ‘whore,’ no ‘er.’ ” I whined, inspecting myself in the mirror.

She laughed and grabbed the sewing kit out of her backpack. That was one class she took that I hadn’t.

“Don’t punch me if I stab ya, okay?” She peeked up at me, and I nodded, my uncertainty feeling clear on my face.

She stitched the fabric with crossed lines and colored patterns, bringing life into Casper’s wedding dress. While she worked slicing and stitching, I thought about Pharaoh and his fucking shirt. That asshole wanted me to clean up his mess. I huffed in irritation at that thought, and Sasha squeaked.

“Girl, breathing too much right now…” She paused the scissors again. “I don’t want to turn you into a porcupine.

“Okay, Sash…but, uh…” I said. “Hold on for one second.” I scurried over to my bookbag in the corner, pulling the shirt free. “Think you could use something from this too on the dress?”

Her mouth fell open at the sight of ‘thee shirt,’ but it was clear by the look on her face that she was confused by my request.

“Cut this up and put it into the fabric,” I set the shirt on the bathroom counter.

Pausing, she raised a manicured eyebrow, glanced at me, and then back at the shirt. Nodding, she finally snagged the cloth.

“Uh…Fay. What the fuck is on this?”

I bit my lip. “He spilled ice cream or something on it.”

“Or something…” Sasha mumbled.

She gave me a look that said she didn’t buy my bullshit at all but started cutting the black material up and popping off some of the buttons. I kept quiet while she worked, watching myself transform in the mirror, becoming more and more comfortable as she went.

When she was done, I stepped closer to the mirror.

The stuffy, too-tight Victorian vice dress was gone, and in its place was a breathtaking masterpiece.

Sasha had cut a slit down the sleeves, stitching in a beautiful lace fabric she’d taken from one of my old dresses in my closet to replace the scratchy material. My navel was visible, and my cleavage under colorful string from the fringe on one of her bags weaved into a netting.

The black fabric of Pharaoh’s shirt was weaved into a pattern of the bodice, like black oil spilling into an ocean of white, and the milky stains created the illusion of a cloud.

It wrapped around my body in different sections. One big piece used to cover my left breast, another laced around my ass cheek, then further down to my thighs where the dress ended after her cuts and alterations.

“Uh, fuck being a chef. I am going to be a fashion designer, baby.” She hooted, admiring her work. It was gorgeous. There was no doubting that.

Sasha’s phone rang, and it was the girl who was escorting her beautiful ass to the party. I made sure she looked prim and put together as beautifully as she was in her red knockout number, and I walked her down to the front door.

She kissed me bye and winked at me before leaving with her date out the door. “Have fun tonight, okay, my secretive, beautiful bestie.”

I smiled and waved to her.

“And tell your weirdo secret admirer that my custom-made come-stained dress is too pretty to rip, so have him take it off ya first, ‘kay? Thanks, hot tits, byeee!”

I blinked at the closed door. Sasha was smart and not shy in the bedroom, so I should’ve known she would figure out what was so obvious.

Still, I felt my cheeks flame in embarrassment.

I didn’t even think Professor Masters would go to the stuffy boat party filled with rich shrimp dicks playing ‘whose dick is the richest.’

The thought made me frown, which was ridiculous. I didn’t want to see that douche canoe.

Fluffing my hair and checking in the mirror on my makeup one last time, I waited for Gio’s limo to arrive in the driveway. He was as punctual as always, and I tried to ignore his gawking look when I smiled and walked out to the car.

“Miss, your dress—”

“Is breathtaking. I am so thankful to my dearest fiancé for his gift. He will be so pleased to hear of my enjoyment of it, don’t you think?”

Manipulating Gio made me feel bad, but I also didn’t have it in me to be scolded for changing the thing into something I didn’t need to put smelling salts on my wrists to keep from passing out during the night.

Gio and I rode in silence, his kind old eyes keeping straight on the road and allowing me to sit and enjoy the ride freely.

The bay with the Grand Charity yacht was near the school.

The pompous owner, Grand Charity, was why the school grounds had the stupid name of “Grands Gift Institute.” I suppose every rich asshole named their achievements after themselves.

Noah named his boat after his wife Hannah, but I hadn’t seen that boat or Hannah since Noah died.

My sister-in-law was like me, never fitting into this society and always hiding behind the buffet platters.

We used to take turns dodging my parents while the other got scolded by my mother about how the food wasn’t meant for consumption and that we looked like homeless people.

How silly of us to see food as edible.

I wondered how Hannah had been. She was pregnant with Noah’s son, and I feared her pain and mourning would make her retreat to the point that I may never see my nephew.

In other news, my lovely family was returning from overseas tonight, and I wanted to hurl at the disgust that roiled in my gut.

They had been gone for months, leaving my sister to pay for me and my meals. I kept telling her I would get a job to help, but she said the family being part of the working class was embarrassing our parents enough for her to be seen, much less their prized mare they set up for breaking.

At least Ferdinand was away on business and wouldn’t be back for a week. I couldn’t handle his touch, and with how fevered my skin was lately, I gagged at the thought of him liking it and thinking my reactions were for him.

The limousine slowed, and Gio rolled down the privacy screen.

“Miss Summers, we have arrived.”

Yippee. Now, I need to put on my mask and get through the night.