When I got to my room, the first thing I did was dry my hair with a hair dryer. I hadn't done that in a very long time. It was refreshing and made me forget about my embarrassing bathroom situation.
I went to my wardrobe and took out a dress I had been meaning to throw away because it was too small. But given my current state, it was required. I had to create the illusion that I was still hot—if I ever was, to begin with.
I had planned to apply makeup first, but I knew that was a rookie mistake. One that would bite me in the ass when I started putting on clothes.
I picked out a red V-neck dress that I had once bought to entice women with one of my best features—my chest. As for lingerie, I just went with a black set.
Once I put on the lingerie and dress, I was glad for my choice. The dress really showed off my thighs, malnourished as they were, they stii had an attachment quality. The dress clung to my figure, making it seem like I had more curves than I really did.
For an illusion, this dress surpassed my expectations. I sat down on the only chair in my room and faced the mirror as I started applying makeup. For my lips, I matched the color to my dress.
It took at least thirty minutes to finish, and when I looked at myself, instead of appearing hollow-cheeked, I looked like I had high cheekbones that ironically enhanced my features.
My pale skin no longer looked sickly, and the bags under my eyes were covered up. My brown eyes glinted under the light, and my blonde hair cascaded in waves down to my waist—all thanks to the curling iron I had long forgotten I owned.
Looking at myself in the mirror, then at the time on my phone, it became apparent I didn't have enough time to wash my clothes.
So, I did the same thing I did with the trash—I placed my dirty clothes inside a plastic bag and left my apartment to drop them beside the elevator. I saw that my previous trash bags had already been picked up.
I returned to my apartment and started preparing dinner. I usually order takeout, so I never really bought anything for the fridge. But you know what they say, lo suyo es mío—what's hers is mine.
I knew I didn't have enough time, so I decided to make pasta. It was the best course of action, and so I got to it, humming to some hit classic songs I hadn't listened to in ages.
It was kind of nice, doing something productive. How long had it been since I did something worthwhile? Three years? That's a long time.
What about the money? Have I even thought about what to do once I get it? Sure, getting money is great, but it's useless if I don't think beyond that. And then there's the mystery behind the system. I choose not to believe it's just a coincidence I got it. Even if it is, why me?
I mean, I've read a few webnovels, but before long, I realized they weren't for me. Either they were too much wish fulfillment, or I just purely and wholeheartedly hate romance webnovels.
The point is, reading a few webnovels doesn't doesn't constitute to having mean a system. It would be ridiculous.
I must assume I'm not the only one handed this system. Otherwise, why would it make sense for my system to have a feature that will allow my ability to advance into more hardcore stages? Who knows—maybe I'll be able to commune with both my future and past selves in the near future.
I choose to believe there's more to a mind-reading ability than just reading stray thoughts. It must be better than that, more focused. After all, it's called Mind Read, not Thought Read.
Maybe I'll even be able to read emotions if I access the limbic system. Hell, I might be capable of more than that.
I went to the dining space in the corner of the room and set the table with plates and two glasses of wine. I mean, there are about ten bottles of wine in the cabinet—too much for one girl—but something tells me my roommate falls asleep after a glass or two.
I placed the food on the table and sat down, waiting for her. I had timed everything almost perfectly, knowing she'd arrive just shy of ten minutes from now.
While waiting, I contemplated how I should start the conversation. "Hey, will you be my girlfriend?" No, that's too forward. She'd probably be uncomfortable, and I can't have that.
How about, "Hey, are you straight?" Whoa, that's a little confrontational and personal.
Maybe I should reintroduce myself. I'm pretty sure we did that the first week we met, but I've actually forgotten her name. There's a chance she's forgotten mine too—hopefully.
Sarah was right—I am an asshole. Forgetting someone's face when you're depressed is one thing. But forgetting their name? Unforgivable. I'll have to rectify my past mistakes, especially with Dawn.
My mood soured at the thought of Dawn, but then I focused on the positive. I had figured out what I'd do with the money, at least at first. I'll pay back my parents every cent, then I'll tell them the truth—all of it.
They'll probably be disappointed in me, but I can't keep living a lie for the rest of my life. Well, I can, but I won't. I'm taking the moral high ground. Granted, it's because I have a way out of the mess I created, but still—it's something.
While trying to convince myself I'm a good person, the apartment door opened, and in walked a tall, pretty woman in slim overalls and only a bra underneath. I didn't know what to make of her outfit, so I chose to focus on her startled expression instead.
I walked toward her, extending my hand, and introduced myself. "Hi, my name's Eva Ridley. Nice to meet you?"
She gave me a suspicious deadpan look with her beautiful silvery-grey eyes and replied, "I know."