Fatal Flaws

"Girl, why aren't you dressed yet? A better question is, have you even showered today? You know what today is, right? The Halloween party starts in a little over an hour. Get up" Skylar whines walking in, dramatically slapping her forehead at the sight of me. Despite going to class earlier, I'm curled up in bed. Which is the same place I have been pretty much all week. Minus the few times I forced myself to go out, attempting to learn something. Ignoring her displeased look, I bury my body deeper down beneath my comforter. Maybe if I pretend she's not here, she will go away.

I shudder, imagining what I must look like. I've practically been living in oversized sweatpants and t-shirts. The last week has been pure hell. Most of my free time has consisted of being alone, lying in bed with my nose in a book. Reading has always been an escape for me. Anytime something went wrong when I was younger, I would get lost in a good story. The words on a page are refreshing. Each person reads them, interpreting them how they want to. There are no right or wrong answers. Plus, a good book doubles as a shield. It allows me to cover my face, hiding from everyone. As much as I have cried, I doubt I have any tears left. The last time I caught sight of myself in the mirror, it was not pretty. It was hard to recognize myself because of my swollen, puffy, tear-stained cheeks.

The only good thing that's happened lately is it's been peaceful. Sky's been staying at Hope's place almost every night. Even when she finds her way home, it's usually super late and I'm already in bed. Lucky for her, she hasn't had to witness any of my depressing episodes. In a way, I'm glad. I haven't had to explain myself to her. No one likes to feel vulnerable. People ask questions, prying into their relationships and problems. No matter how close you are to a person, everyone likes privacy. Regardless of this, I have to admit I hate not having my best friend here. I miss our late-night conversations. Some are deep and others lack common sense. One night, we stayed up almost all night, debating about cookies. Whether sugar or snickerdoodles are better. After a heated discussion, we both realized neither was. Oreos took the win.

Plus, not to mention our comedy sessions. No matter what mood I start in, I have a smile on my face by the end. She always knows exactly how to cheer me up. I would never admit it to her, but I miss her never-ending styling tips. Sometimes she drives me crazy with her constant judgment of my attire, but lately, it's been too quiet.

I'm still out of it, looking up at her, and rubbing my eyes vigorously. From what I can make out, she looks amazing. Based on her outfit, I assume she won the argument over costumes. With everything going on last weekend, I hadn't noticed what everyone decided on.

Her curves protrude from the tight-fitting white nursing dress her costume came with. The outfit showcases her perfect hourglass figure. Her large, firm breasts barely remain inside of the low-lying vee-cut neckline. A row of vertically placed ruby red buttons run below her breast to the hem of the dress. I'm assuming because of the recent drop in temperature outside, she's chosen to cover her legs. Surprising me with dark red fish nets ending in white thigh-high-heeled boots.

She has her hair tightly pulled back into a neat bun. A little white nursing cap sits perched on her head. It has a red nursing emblem stitched into the middle of it. Her make-up is perfect, with a matching maroon color splashed across her eyelids. Her favorite blood-red lipstick pulls the whole look together. A small red stethoscope hanging loosely around her neck finishes it off.

"Yes, I showered earlier. Thank you very much. But I don't know if I want to go," I sigh, glancing at the vampire costume I grabbed last second. It's not my style, but it was the first thing I saw in my size and price range. The only thing on my mind at that exact minute was getting away from Ashley. And that meant getting out of there as fast as I could.

"I'm done with your ass. We are eighteen years old and in college, bitch. We only get to do this once in our whole lives. And we're going to do the damn thing. Do you hear me?" She snaps harshly. Without warning, she grabs the comforter, ripping it from my grasp. "We go to class all week, bust our asses studying and learning. We deserve to party like rock stars on the weekends. So get your sorry ass up and get dressed. I can even do your hair and makeup for you?" she offers, placing her hands firmly on her hips. Her eyes narrow into slits, glaring down at me.