Thread: The Getaway (Callisto + the suicide dress)

breathe. Gwendolyn couldn't breathe. She'd been like this since he'd come home. Michael . They hadn't seen each other for years - he always away, always with his friends, or his girlfriend. Gwen supposed he'd been busy, living without them, without the restrictive structure of their parents' household. But she'd missed him. Then he returned. Gwen had hovered around the house, distracted, like a butterfly in a pale, flimsy blue blouse. Their parents had gone for a few groceries, and it'd been Gwen and Darcy, their cat, fat and creamy tan, lounging by her side, a slim hand in his soft fur. Humming with the excitement, she'd waited. When the knock had sounded her heart had lept - gently, she pushed Darcy off of her, and went to the door. Michael in her memories had been lean, a boy with a wicked smirk. Michael in reality was... he was -- Her heart settled somewhere in her throat, and Gwen's eyes the same bright blue as his widened, her lips bitten over and over again in mindless boredom, rosy and plumper for it parting. Tall, his dark hair dishevelled, built meanly... he was exactly the kind of man - not boy, not anymore - that her friends whispered about. That she - that she -- In the passenger seat of Michael's car, Gwendolyn's breath caught, her lips parting with it, slight, pink and shining in the reflection of the window she was staring out of. Her friend, her best friend Kelsey, liked to tease her constantly for being so... virginal . Maria who was, at seventeen, a fantasy for all the boys they knew and their fathers with small hard breasts and curved, heart-shaped behind, Kelsey dressed to flaunt both in tight denim and low-scooped shirts. You have to live a little, She'd complain to Gwen. You even dress boring. Boring to Kel just meant Gwen didn't show enough skin. The brunette liked what she liked, pastel things mostly, buttoned blouses with sweet collars scalloped edged, peter-pan, little cap sleeves. Thin and sheer, the cream of her skin would shine through, Gwen oblivious too it, oblivious to the ghost-like lines of her swells and curves, visible to anyone. It'd been Kelsey's idea, the lingerie, the lace and frills that now went under her shirts. Her older sister worked in a department store, and had given the pair her staff discount - by the end of the day, the Van Halen girl had sets in silk, lace, chiffon soft cups, hard, lifting. Soft blues, pinks, whites. Underwear that whispered against her, smooth under hesitant fingers. She'd even bought a nightgown - a babydoll , really, white cotton, soft enough that it felt like silk. Gwen had only worn it a few times, and only in her room, heart beating strangely - she hadn't had it for long and Michael was with them, by then. It showed the tops of her thighs and the dark shadow of her innermost self. The faint pink tips of her breasts. It was an item made for bed -- and yet, Gwen had packed it, face burning the entire time. Even now, thinking about it, her cheeks warmed. School's fine. She replied to her brother, dark hair curling against her shirt as she shifted. A week, she thought faintly, with Michael. In a cabin. In the snow. I guess I'm excited. It's scary, though - I still... I still don't know what I want to do for college. The last part she said without thinking. Gwen didn't know what she wanted - not from this week, let alone her future.