I started to walk.
The world seemed to slow down as I put one foot in front of the other. There were lights of all colors flashing in my face, people cheering, and so much more. It is overwhelming, to say the least.
I continued to walk; the runway part was fun, but the pressure of walking and wearing my own clothes in front of all of these people was not fun.
I stopped at the end of the runway, took a bow, and waved to the people in the crowd.
"Wow, we did not expect famous fashion designer Rosalind to also become a famous fashion model all in one night—truly one of the first the Enigma collection has ever seen and truly remarkable." As the announcer lady finished her speech, I stood up and walked back.
The world didn't slow down, and the lights were leaking into my brain with their brightness. The cheering drowned out all of my thoughts and movements.
They liked it. They loved it. It was awesome, and I was awesome.
I sat down backstage and sighed. It was a big success, and I'm glad because it could have gone so much worse.
And I wore my dress. I ran my hands across the patterns and the materials; it made me so happy.
"Ma'am. Ma'am, you can't be back here, ma'am-."
"Rosalind, dear." I turned around. There go my good moments; I can't have any happiness, can I?
"Can I help you?" I asked; I couldn't even remember this lady's name. Why would I let her backstage, like she was my best friend?
"It's me, your fashion teacher," she said. I know, bitch, I'm not stupid. I just don't want to see you.
"It doesn't ring a bell, sorry. Security," I called, and they went to grab her.
"Fame changed you, Rosalind."
I turned around and looked at her.
"Fame didn't change me; you did." That was a cold line; she better be shivering in her boots after that one.
I got up and pushed the doors to the backstage area. There was stuff everywhere—outfits, fabric, you name it. Everywhere.
"Mrs. Rosalind, why didn't you tell us you were going out on stage?" One of the models said it at a weird angle, and I couldn't see who said it.
"It was a surprise, duh," I said, and she started laughing, as did a few others.
I won round two, I guess.
Everyone was talking about what to order for eating and celebrating.
Has fame changed me?
Maybe it has. I'm not as nice as I once was, and I sometimes treat the people I work with like shit because I pay them.
Maybe this industry has finally gotten the better of me. That's sad.
I already have enough money; I should just quit. I know why I don't. I like being in control; it makes me feel better about the monster I have become.
"What are you thinking about, Rosa?" Asa asked me.
"Am I different than I was when I was 17?"
"Yes, you are older."
"Yeah, no shit, dumb ass."
"You used to not cuss at me or anyone, for that matter."
"Like, personality-wise, am I different?" I asked, and this one he thought about.
"Yes, well, not really. You still have a kind soul and are nice to everyone; you are just more aggressive about your niceness now," Asa said with a smile.
I love him.
"Thank you, Asa," I said.
"You've also got more beautiful too."
"Thank you."
"Don't brush me off; I'm being serious."
"Sure."
"You are really pretty, Rosalind," he said, and he smiled at me with that same look I couldn't explain.
"Thank you, Asa." and just like that, he walked off. He is a character.
"Mark? Where does he keep going? Mrs. Rosalind, what would you like?" Jenny asked me.
"Where are you guys ordering?"
"Texas Roadhouse."
"Get me some rolls."
"That's it?"
"Yep," I said with a smile, and she went around and got the rest of the team's orders.
"Send me the bill, and I will Venmo you," I said with a smile, and Jenny nodded with an even bigger smile.
I sat down in my area; the venue had cleared out at this point, and me and my team were probably the only ones still in the venue chilling.
"Your man gives me the creeps. I take back trying to get you guys together. I understand he is your type, but he is-."
"Asa, I don't even like him. Calm down," I said, and Asa rolled his eyes. What is with him today? Probably the stress of the collection and all of them is getting to him.
Mark was a pretty strange guy. I mean, most big supermodels, whose dads are rich CEOs, start acting and modeling when they are young, but Mark is different. He started it recently and just grabbed the industry with his looks and charm.
I think I was being paranoid, but just everything about him gave an off or bad vibe, like he wasn't meant to be here.
His Instagram account was created not even a year ago; I don't know who he is or what he is here for besides money.
I don't pay him now because he has only worked with me twice, and I only pay people after a certain amount of shows so people don't run off with my money and not come back and work for me.
It's like he's done this all before, and he is just waiting for the industry to slip up—the people, his fans, me. He is waiting for all of us to slip and mess up and give in to his plan.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but damn, nothing he ever does lines up, and he is so damn suspicious all the time and weird, and he only gets away with all of this because he is hot, and hot men are hot, so it makes up for the fact they are the biggest dicks on the planet and make you feel awful.
I looked behind me, and Mark was sitting on his phone off to the side. Maybe he was just awkward and didn't feel welcome enough to join the celebration.
The energy of the runaway kind of faded out, and people were talking and doing their own thing to celebrate.
But Mark just sat there, with that weird look on his face, as the light of his phone lit up his face.
"You did well on the show," I said, sitting down next to him. He looked up at me but didn't put his phone down.
"I know," and he looked back down at his phone.
No weird compliment or strange comment; I should be jumping up and down for joy right now. But I feel empty in a way.
It's like his infectious and disgusting charm was gone like he was only doing it to warp his way into my fashion show and my group of models and people.
The warmth and charisma were fading into a more enigmatic countenance.
Look at me using big verbs; enigmatic means mysterious, like someone's outward appearance or something. I don't know. I didn't take the SAT.
"You're good; I'll give you that. And not just at modeling," I said and stood up. He looked up from his phone.
There was a dark shadow behind his eyes, a sinister charm, and charisma. It was so far, but so close that you could also touch it.
"Trust me. You will fail, not me," I said, and I walked off. Stupid bitch.
I run this industry now. I don't know how many lives he has lived or what he has done, but trust me when I say, I will make him fail once and for all, and I will win.
"Rosalind," Mark said.
How is it? What the hell? I looked behind me at the bench. He was just sitting there, and now he is in front of me, walking towards me.
"Yes?" I asked, still trying to understand how he did that, or maybe I just wasn't observant, and he ran to surprise me. Probably that.
"I always win, Rosalind," and he started to walk forward as I walked back.
"Time after time. I will win, and you will fail." He continued to walk, and as he spoke, by now my back had hit the wall, and he looked at me.
"This is your first time; this is my 240th time. I will win. I always do," he said, and he stopped and smiled at me.
Fear. fear. fear.
I feel fear consuming me, like something more than his words had influence over me.
"You're getting scared; give up, Rosalind," he said.
"I will win."
"You won't."
"You don't know me."
"You don't know me," Mark said, pointing at himself.
"I do know that you are a fake who preys on the weak, but I've been faking longer than you have been in the industry, I know. I know you," I said, and I looked him in the eyes.
I felt the room start to spin as I regained my composure.
He looked at me.
"You are stronger than you look," he said, and he looked me up and down slowly.
"You're gorgeous too; maybe I'll spare you."
Fear, fear, it won't leave.
"Or maybe you can join me, pretty thing?" Smack.
"Or not, since you want to stop me," he said and scoffed.
I grabbed him by the collar.
"This will be your first loss," I said, and I pushed him and walked past him.
"You will lose, baby, trust me. People like you always fold." I turned around and flipped him off. He was so annoying, oh my god.
My heart was pounding.
I turned back; he was gone. Weird. This whole thing was weird.
He was talking and laughing. Laughing. Laughing. I rolled my eyes and took a breath. I put my shoulder down. I will win.
"Are you sure you want to stay late? I can help you-."
I interrupted Asa, "I got it; you printed out the instructions for me already, so I'll get most of it done tonight and then show you in the morning." I explained it to him.
It had been a few days since this enigmatic collection, and I was already busy with my next collection.
"See you in the morning, doll," Asa said, and he left with his bag. I waved him off and then went back to work.
I continued to work; I just wanted to get a start, and then I would have my models help in the morning-. Ouch, dumb fuck.
"Rosalind." I turned around and looked at Mark. I just pricked myself. I haven't done that in so long, so it was hurting like a bitch.
He grabbed my finger, and he stared at it.
"You need to cover this up. It could be dangerous. Very dangerous. Cover it up, cover-."
"Mark, calm down; it's just a drop of blood, no big deal," I said. He wasn't normally an overreactor, so this was strange. He was strange.
I brushed him off. Wait.
"You left; why are you still here?" I asked. His face paled.
"If you want to see me, just say that, or you want me to put you in your place again. I will gladly do that, no questions asked," I said, smiling at him.
He was speechless.
He looked me in the eyes with his mouth open.
Fear. fear. Fear. I need to run. Run as fast as I can. Run, run. RUN!
I looked down. Mark has this powerful, weird aura around him and every time I look him in the eyes, it sends me into a trance of fear, and I feel like he's going to eat me.
"Eat me?"
What in the world? Okay, I don't know what is happening to me. I mean, he needs to at least take me out to dinner first.
He grabbed my finger and stared at it.
He was shaking like he needed it.
"Maybe you could be my princess. Be just like her," he said, and he stared at me.
Comparing me to other women, ouch.
"Just like she was, at least. We were destined to marry, but she never loved me. I haven't loved since. You could be my princess," he said.
Why is he speaking in Shakespeare?
"At least take me out to dinner. I understand your concern about my getting a cut, but there is no need to act like I am dying," I said, and I pried his grip off of my hands.
"You calm yourself down, and I will see you in the morning, okay?" I asked, and he nodded.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to me. I just got ahead of myself," he said, and he bowed.
"Don't worry about it; I'll see you tomorrow," I said and waved.
"You too, Mrs. Rosalind, have a good night." and he left just like that.
What is up with him?
One called me Mrs. Rosalind.
Two, the freak out over blood.
And three very handsome, scratch that last one, but anyway. He was very strange.
I mean, the cut could have gotten infected and I could have lost a finger, but that's very unlikely, so I'm still not sure why he was freaking out so damn much.
I washed off the cut, and I put a bandage on it.
"Good." I looked behind me. No one.
Strange. I could have sworn I heard Mark's voice. Meh, whatever.
I feel like he is making me crazy. I can't even look him in the eyes without being freaked out and scared. I don't know what is happening.
The Mrs. Rosalind thing was probably because he felt bad or wanted me to think he felt bad; I think that was the weirdest part of this whole thing.
The blood—he was just overreacting because of some trauma, I don't know. That was really relevant.
He was very handsome, being all caring like that. I love it when men do the bare minimum; that's so fun.
Whatever, he's just a normal rich guy who is probably being controlled by his dad, and that's why he is strange and has weird freakouts like backing me into the corner and making me wish I was never born with the way he played with my thoughts and emotions.
He was good. I will give him that.
"Are the pictures going well?" I asked. We had a few photographers in the studio today, and they were taking pictures of some of my models.
"Yes, Mrs. Rosalind," the photographer said.
I looked over at Mark. He was sitting down, talking with a few of the male models, and being happy.
I am glad he is trying this time to be a part of the team instead of just doing his job and sitting down or leaving.
I walked over to the area and pretended to be on the phone.
Sorry, I love eavesdropping; it is so funny.
"Of course, she's beautiful," Gavin said. He was one of my male models.
Probably girlfriend.
"She's our boss, dude," Ryan said.
"I can still call her hot," Oliver said.
"I say beautiful is more respectful," Gavin said.
"Hey Rosalind, I think you're beautiful, and I know you hate me because I am a douchebag. But let's go out," Mark said.
"No, I'm playing; I mean, she's beautiful, but not for me," Mark said, and the others raised their eyebrows.
"I'll ask her then," Ryan said with a smile.
"Yeah no."
"What do you mean, no?"
"You heard me," Mark said, and the four of them stopped talking. The way he can just talk to them and be normal. Ignoring the fact that they are talking about me.
"Did you guys enjoy your photos?" I popped in. and they all jumped.
"Did you hear any of that?" Ryan asked.
"Hear what?" They all let out a sigh.
"I'm flattered, and Mark, they want another photoshoot with you," I said, and Ryan put his head down.
Mark got up, and I pointed him to the photographer.
He walked over to the photographer, and I followed behind him.
I sat on a bench as he started his poses in different outfits. He was a really good model when he was not being strange and telling me that he was going to ruin the whole industry. He is a really good model.
His poses made you want to stop, stare, and just admire. He is handsome and knows how to use it.
His confidence, charm, and voice just make everyone around him fold.
When he's around the press and fan girls outside of the fashion shows, he's always so nice and charming.
His rise to popularity has put the industry in a chokehold, and his natural skill for modeling does as well.
He only gets away with all of this stuff because he is good at what he does. Very, very good.
He walked away from the photographer. I still had my doubts about him.
The power he held in his stares, calling Mrs. Rosalind just to get my guard down, threatening me and backing me into a wall.
His public persona was all fake; he was fake.
"Is your real name Mark?" I asked, and Mark turned around to look at me. I stared at his nose and lips; he wouldn't catch me, not this time at least.
"Yes? I've been Mark Camacho for 24 years; I think I would know my name," he said jokingly.
He leaned down near my ear.
"You're a clever girl," he whispered, leaning back and smiling at me.
"Who are you calling girl?" I said not looking him in the eyes, fear would not consume me. I wouldn't let it.
"You, what are you going to do about it?" Smack. Okay, I wasn't normally this aggressive and rash; I just hate when hot men think they rule the damn world.
Consider it mansplaining, but I slap him before he actually does it? I admit words speak louder than actions, but if he had listened, I would not have smacked him across his dumb ass fucking face.
"I don't think the press would like to know that you are smacking your employees," Mark said.
"You don't have proof."
"Oh, but they believe everything I say. They always have."
"I don't think the press would like to see you harassing your boss and backing her into a corner."
"You don't have proof."
"Oh, but I do."
"You think you are so damn smart, but sometimes there are no thoughts in that pretty head," I said with a smile.
"Cameras," and I smiled as he rolled his eyes and his shoulders dropped.
"Round 3, I win," I said, and I started to walk off.
"Heard you need a male model for a journey through timeless elegance; just because you hate me doesn't mean we can't do professional collaboration," Mark shrugged, and then he walked off.
I mean, he was right; I did need a male model. I hate it when they are hot, mean, and always right.
"Have you thought about it?" I turned around. How does he keep getting behind me? I blinked twice. I feel like I'm losing my mind.
"Yes. Now come help me and stop being weird," I said, and Mark laughed.
"Why do you feel the need to post about it?" I asked Mark. Two days had gone by, and there was now a new tag for my fashion project with Mark on Instagram.
I had mapped out my plans for all I needed and what I wanted to do.
"I'm just like that." Mark was sitting on my desk as I sat on the chair with our list of designs.
It was late, and Mark had been staying with me for the past two days and just bothering me for no reason. He's very good at what he does, and I respect it.
"Okay, so I have a suit with a starlight vibe, another one that is all black with some silver edges, and the other one is a dress-."
"I'm not wearing a dress," Mark said, interrupting me and my train of thought.
"I am wearing it," I said, and he looked at me funny.
"What? Are you going to cry about it?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes and shoved my notebook off the desk.
I rolled my eyes. This was going to be a long week.
The first suit was a midnight blue color, with fabric that was shaped into subtle patterns of constellations, showing some charm in it.
"I think it looks ugly."
"It will fit you well then," I said to Mark, not even looking up from my work.
The jacket of the suit had some subtle bits of glitter on it that weren't overkill and instead actually looked pretty good. It was so supposed to be like the night sky.
I looked up; I only had the suit pants left of this outfit.
"You can't tell me I ain't fly." Mark was dancing with his eyes closed, doing some weird dance to wake up in the sky by whoever sang that song with Gucci Mane, I don't know.
He was very handsome, and he made me smile. Just when he opened up that stupid mouth, everything went downhill; when he didn't and instead was happy and just enjoying himself, he was very handsome. I would consider dating him.
Wait what? No, I take that back. I'm under his spell or something. What in the world? My brain is easily seduced by hot men.
"Do you like that song?" I asked, and he opened his eyes and looked at me funny. He was very embarrassed.
"I don't even know it, just those choruses. It has an interesting beat in the background," he said, sitting down. I smiled. Cute.
The pants were going to be midnight as well, and hug Mark's legs. And lastly, a black tie that was all black to show the night sky.
"Looks pretty good," Mark said, coming back with food. Two days had gone by, and I was done with the first one.
"Thank you; I think the pants look good too," I said with a smile, taking my food from him.
"I meant you."
"Huh?"
"I meant your jacket; it looks pretty good," Mark said, quickly sitting down. He was so damn weird sometimes.
The next up was a daring suit for anyone who embraced mystery or whatever those sappy, weird descriptions are. The suit had a very prominent neckline with sharp collars. I don't know the word at all. I just wanted it to scream confidence.
Thank God I got the perfect model for the job.
"Mark!" I called out. He was gone. He loves to just disappear and go do random stuff while I work, or he likes to sit there and stare at me and analyze every damn thing I am doing.
The pants have a wide-leg silhouette because I haven't done an outfit like that in a while, and I feel like it will add a touch of drama to it. The entire suit was black, but it was a pretty black color, like the fabric that was in the back of the closet that I had never touched. It had some silver accents here and there and was gorgeous.
"That looks cool," Mark said, looking up from his phone. He was here today, on his phone and only looking up every hour or so, but he was here.
"Thank you; I think this will suit you well."
"Why's that?"
"Because you have a lot of confidence."
"Are you calling me a narcissist?"
"A raging narcissist, actually,'' I said, and he laughed and smiled. At least he is self-aware.
The last item was a ballgown. I feel like all I make is dresses and suits. Eh, whatever I am the designer, I don't care what others think.
The gown has layers of sheer fabric, making it feel like I would be floating on air. Each layer was white or a different shade of light gray. It looked good.
"Mark!"
"Yes?" he called back.
"Go get me food since you don't want to help!" I yelled.
"Yes ma'am." Okay, sir, too far. I smiled. He was a character.
"You like when I call you ma'am?" I looked up.
What in the world? Where does he keep coming from?
"Go get my food."
"I asked you a question."
"So did I; now go get me my food,'' I said, standing up from my uncomfortable position on the chair.
He started to walk towards me, forcing me to walk back. I felt my back hit the wall.
"Why do you keep doing this like you are a high school jock in fanfiction or something?" I asked, looking to the side of him.
"Why don't you look me in the eyes, Rosalind?" he asked.
Apparently, we are both in our ask questions but not answer them era.
"I am."
"You are not."
He was right; I wasn't. I am not going to be put in whatever trance his eyes did to me that one time.
He grabbed my chin, and I pushed him back.
"Go get me my food," I said, and he laughed.
"Yes ma'am." and he laughed again as I felt my face turn hot.
He's so stupid, I hate him.
The bodice of the dress is connected with a lot of feathers, which resemble the wings of a moth, and go with the flowing skirt.
I tried the wings on. They were very easy to make and only took me a few hours.
"Cool wings," Mark said as he walked behind me as I looked at myself in the mirror.
"Thank you," I said, snatching the food out of his hand.
I smiled. It was my favorite pasta.
"You said you liked the place, so I drove an hour and spent 300 dollars on it and a few others that I know you like," Mark said. I smiled.
Damnit, he's trying to get me to like him, and it's working. It worked so much.
"Thank you," I said. We weren't on hugging terms yet, so I didn't hug him, but I was very happy.
"Anytime," he said, and he gave me this big smile. It was sinister and evil; he was plotting something.
Eh, what the hell? If he keeps going to get me food, paying for it, and calling me ma'am, I wouldn't be opposed to whatever he is planning.
"A surprise collection," I said to the announcer lady. It was the day of the fashion show, and I forgot about all of these questions.
"And what models do you have today?" she asked.
"I have one model and myself."
"Again? You are for sure going to overshadow whatever model you have."
"I don't think so, but I'm glad you think that," I said, and my brain tuned out the rest of what she said.
"Give it up for Rosalind and her surprise collection!" and I quickly walked backstage and got changed.
"What are you looking at?" I asked as I pulled up the straps of the dress and zipped them myself.
"I don't know," Mark said quickly, scrambling.
"Go out and then come back, change, and we will go out together," I said, and Mark nodded as he quickly made it to the stage part.
He was so weird, oh my god.
I watched on the screen as he did his normal walk with a smile so big and so fake that it gave me chills.
"Do you like him?" Asa asked me; he had snuck in with Lindsay and Ryan, and I didn't even notice.
"Why didn't you tell me you guys were coming?" I asked, and I hugged them all.
"We just wanted to," Lindsay said.
"You guys, go watch; I am going to talk to Rosalind for a second," Asa said.
"Yes?"
"Do you like him?"Why does he keep asking me if I like Mark?
"Do I like who?"
"Rosalind, you are smart; don't play dumb with me," Asa said aggressively.
"Damn chill. Uh, I'm not sure; I guess I kind of do," I said, and Asa nodded.
"Why?" I asked.
"He's a heartbreaker, so I recommend you don't fall for him anymore," Asa said.
"What didn't you try to set me up with him? Do you have a change of heart? Why?" I said, laughing.
"Because I-."
Mark interrupts him. "Ma'am, we have a show to do," he said, and he was already changed in his second outfit.
"Tell me later, okay?" I said, and Asa nodded as I walked quickly toward Mark.
"Shall we?" he said, and we made it to the area.
I got this; I've done this before.
And the two of us started to walk. The cheering, the lights—all of it was truly overwhelming. Mark walked in front of me a few steps, and I followed behind.
One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.
I made it to where Mark was stopped, and the two of us turned to both sides and waved.
Holy shit, there are so many people, oh my god.
I looked over at Mark, who had a huge smile on his face as he ate up every bit of attention everyone in the audience gave him. Fame is one crazy thing, and it has consumed him whole, and he doesn't even know it.
"Bow," I whispered.
And the two of us bowed in sync. I smiled, and I closed my eyes. Mark turned to me, and I did the same.
He gave me this weird look, and then the next thing I knew, I was up in the air, and I felt one arm behind my ass and the other one holding up my legs.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked.
"Carrying you back, now smile and look pretty; you're good at that." He turned his back to the crowd, and he started to walk with me in his arms.
Smiling like he normally did, he got more attention than he normally did.
We made it backstage, and I looked at him with horror on my face.
He put me down and didn't say a word as he walked over to the others, who were already starting a celebratory toast.
What the fuck is wrong with him? Oh my god, he is so damn strange.
It's like he's getting me to fall for him while doing nice things, and then he wants me to hate him like he killed my grandmother or something. Why? What is he even thinking, bro?
Whatever, who cares about him? Me apparently.
I walked over, and Asa handed me some red wine. Great, just what I need.
I held the glass in my hands and put it up to my lips, and I drank some of it. It is very good and just what I need after putting up with Mark's bullshit for a few weeks to work on this project.
"Let me go change," I said, put the wine down, and quickly walked to my dressing room.
I slid the straps down, and then I hung the dress back up on the hanger. I put on my bra, shirt, and then pants.
Shoes are overrated.
I opened the curtain and walked back out, going back to the toast.
"I toast to Rosalind!" Asa said, giving Mark a mean look. What is up with everyone today? Was there a gas leak or something?
"And for Mark for being willing to be my male model," I said, and Mark nodded. We all put our cups together, and Mark with his plastic water bottle.
He probably didn't drink, and who am I to judge that?
We continued talking.
"Oh shit. I'm sorry, dude," Asa said, and I looked to see what had happened. I'm very nosey, but I also can't have anything bad happen under my watch.
Asa had spilled a bit of red wine on the floor.
I went to the table, put my glass down, and got the Clorox wipes sitting there.
I opened it and pulled two wipes out.
I squatted down.
"Are you going to help me?" I asked.
Mark had squatted down with me but had not said a word.
He looked at the red wine with his jaw clenched, and he didn't look disgusted but looked uncomfortable. Like that red wine spill scared him.
"What's wrong with you?" He didn't respond; he just looked at the red wine shaking.
I cleaned it up and stood up.
"It's gone, weirdo, get up," I said, tapping him, and he almost snapped out of what he was doing, like he was in a trance or something.
"I'm going to go sit down, Rosalind," he said. No weird nickname; something was definitely up with him.
"Okay, come talk to me if something is wrong," I said, and he nodded and sat down.
He was weird. The red wine, the trance thing with his eyes, what other weird things, uh, the thing with my finger? Maybe he is just a paranoid guy; I don't know.
There are so many things I don't know about him, and some things I do know but don't really know. He was a puzzle, but I was missing all of the pieces. That's how I feel right now.
I walked over to him, away from everyone talking, and stood in front of Mark, who was staring off into space.
"I think you looked good in those outfits," I said, and he looked up at me. I avoided eye contact and looked at his nose.
"Thanks."
"Something up?"
He stopped himself from answering and just looked down.
"How do you do it?" he asked me.
"Do what?" I asked back.
"Do all of this."
"Like being a fashion designer?" I asked, and he nodded.
"It was my dream-."
He interrupted me, "What was your dream?"
I blinked and looked around. I don't know.
"Is stay-at-home mom a bad answer?" I said jokingly, and he smiled.
"Sort of."
"Well, this started as a hobby, and I was forced into it by my mom, then into the industry, and now I can't get out. Well, I can-."
He interrupted me again. "So why don't you?"
"I love money," I said, and he nodded.
"Me too, but when does it go too far? I am doing this all for my dad; it was his dream; this was all those years ago, but who am I?" He asked, and I glanced at his eyes and then back at his nose.
Sadness was all I could see; he was broken just like me.
I touched his thigh, and he didn't flinch back.
"Well, what did you want to be?" I asked.
"Well, I remember there were so many railroads opening and works like railroad workers and sailors opening, and I wanted to do that and help people. I also wanted to be an educator," he said with a smile on his face.
Railroads opening? What is he on about?
"You know, all kids want to be train conductors," he said, and I nodded. I think he sensed the confusion on my face.
He grabbed my hand in his, and he lifted me for a hug. No words; I could feel his breath slow down as he hugged me tighter and tighter.
He put his head on the nape of my neck and rested it there.
I patted his back. We all need hugs now and then, so I understand where he is coming from, even though we have seen our differences.
He let go of me and sat back down.
This time, I sat next to him.
He sat there, staring at his hands, as I waited. I waited for him to tell me whatever he was comfortably sharing.
"My mom's not even my real mom. He always gets new partners after they go, every time. Maybe he will find the right person and keep her forever, but not this life, not any," Mark said, mumbling.
I wasn't even sure what he was talking about, but I patted his back. Forever is a strong word, but I think he has a hard time finding love and expressing himself because of his dad's heavy influence on him.
I didn't know what to say, so we sat in silence with the faint sound of talking and glasses in the background.
"You're the prettiest girl I have ever come across in forever. Not once have I seen someone as gorgeous as yourself," he said.
"You are only 24; you haven't seen that many pretty people."
"If only," and he went quiet again. If only what? If only you have seen more girls or if only you have lived more years? Strange.
"Your face is very pretty and very distinct; I don't think I have seen one quite like it. And your." he stopped.
"My what?"
He held his palms out.
"That would be rude," he said with a smile. Okay, Mark is back.
He is strange, oh my god.
He stood up.
"Know your feelings when they come and never let go," he said, walking off.
I'm sorry, what? That's a crazy quote.
I sat there, looking at the lines on the palms of my hands, all going every which way.
I don't know if I am being played right now or what. Is it just him looking for a business partner and sweet-talking me because of that, or is it because he has genuine feelings for me that he just doesn't know how to express?
Like we have been doing so well, he sort of likes working together, and he seems to like my company, but I think it's because it's a mentor-student thing for him.
I think he likes to just play with me and my feelings because he needs some drama and interest while he learns.
Are all the sparks from all of the little touches and the hug just now all in my head?
Wait, but I catch him staring all the time; everything I do is under his watchful gaze. So is it genuine connection and admiration, or is it just because he also likes money and the more he is with me, the more fame he gets?
Ouch, okay. I overthink, oh my god.
Love messes up my head so much. I can't.
I can't. I can't.
I looked up. I was here again, back in the old studio.
I watched myself. I was sitting there holding a picture in a dress with tears on everything, including the picture.
I watched as it moved to me and my old fashion teacher.
She was yelling at me. I walked closer and closer, and I could hear the words now.
"He was only using you because of your fame; anyone could see through that Rosalind," she said as I cried and cried.
All of the memories came back as I watched myself cry.
Ethan. We were together for a few months, but I really loved him with all my whole soul.
"Fashion and love don't mix; you can either have one or the other; they don't mix," she said, and I held the picture in my dress.
He never loved me and would only use me for status and money. That's a shame.
"They only want you for your fame; you are unloveable."
I wiped my face. Oh god, I haven't thought about Ethan in so long.
The talking was now quiet, as most people weren't there anymore.
Mark and I had become pretty close, and how could he use me for money and fame when he already had so much?
That's because people always want more. The good little moments we keep sharing get easily overshadowed by the bad ones.
Oh god, I don't even know if he actually likes me or if he is just using him to get richer and more famous.
"Rosalind, go get some fresh air; you have been looking at the ground for 30 minutes," Asa said, and I nodded.
He was right. I just needed to clear my head, and I would be okay.
I pushed the door open and went into the moonlight.
There was Mark, and he was smoking. Yuck.
The way he walked around with the cigarettes in his hand was different from the walk on the runway; this one was more, I don't know how to explain, less fake, but at the same time, he walked like he wasn't human.
"Smoking is bad for you," I said.
"I know," he said like he heard and saw me coming. He was expecting me to come out here.
"Why do it?"
"Because I'm hoping they will take life off of this forever." What does that even mean? He is just full of weird quotes that belong on Goodreads or something.
"It definitely will."
"It won't."
"Nothing will," he said, blowing the smoke away from me.
The way he was walking early, his steps just seemed to be like he was gliding and not bound by natural order or anything like that.
"You wanna try?" he asked.
"Yeah no."
"Why don't you find it sexy?"
"Yep, lung cancer; it makes me wet and weak in my knees," I said, and he looked at me with wide eyes.
"I didn't even know you could say something vulgar."
"How does lung cancer make me weak in my knees vulgar?"
"It makes me wet? That's vulgar, baby," he said with this haze in his eyes.
"Your face is fucking vulgar; stop smoking if you want to come back inside-." and there I go, flat on my face. I have had feet for how long, and I am still tripping over them?
He caught me.
"Okay, what the fuck?" I asked.
"That's vulgar," he said, helping me back up to an upright position.
"How did you even get over here?" I asked.
"I was walking to put my cigarette down, and you just happened to fall."
"But-." I stopped myself. I don't even know what I want to say.
"Take a picture; it will last longer," he said, posing.
I flipped him off, and I quickly pulled out my phone and got a picture of him smiling with the peace sign.
"Go back inside when you don't smell," I said, pushing back through the door.
What is it called when you fall and someone who is standing far behind you catches you? I typed on my phone and clicked search.
Trust falls.
Catching someone.
Stockholm syndrome.
Ultimate frisbee.
Vampire.
Snooze.
Vampire.
I clicked on the website.
A vampire is a mythical creature that feeds on the living. In European folklore, vampires are undead creatures who cause mischief. Also in the hits Twilight, Breaking Dawn, etc., a vampire can often teleport and save people, and it also helps them get closer to their prey.
Okay, but they don't exist, so what? Whatever, I am overreacting.
I went back to my photos app and clicked on the photo of him.
His reflection was in the moonlight, but the whole image was distorted and weird like it was different from when I actually took the picture.
He had a sinister smile on his face, and his hands were at his side.
What the fuck?
Am I losing my mind?
I swear he was smiling.
I swiped over. Oh, he is smiling in this one.
Okay, I am just overreacting.
Everything is normal; I am normal, and Mark is normal.
Everything is okay. And I am still shoeless; ain't that fun.