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Post by rosemary on Oct 7, 2011 1:02:10 GMT
For eighteen years, Rosemary's life had been filled to the brim with other people. A sister, mother, father, and two brothers. She'd never even allowed herself the illusion that she owned anything independantly. Her entire life was crowded, everywhere she went was crowded she'd had nothing that was her own, and it drove her up a friggin wall everyday that she'd been trapped inside of the Way household. She loved her family yes, but she was one of those people who needed space, she felt like she couldn't breath when she was surrounded by them all the time.
So no one in her family had been to shocked when by ten in the morning on her eighteenth birthday she'd been all moved out of her old room at the Way's manor, and into her first very own apartment. It was a small quiet apartment, filled with dark wooden floors, and four little rooms that contained the bathroom, one bedroom, a kitchen, and somewhat of a living room. The entire apartment was about the size of the living room of the Way's family manor, but she'd never been happier than to own something that was just her's. It was her santuary, the place that she called her own, the one place where she'd never been forced to make room for anyone else. Her boyfriend made his own space, half the closet was his, and his coffee mug sat on the counter, his shoes by the door and a jacket hung off the back of her couch. Still it was Rosemary's own private space. A place people were allowed in by invation only.
Rosemary had been living on her own for a couple of years now, and she easily admitted she LOVED that she could slam her front door in her family's faces and lock them out to focus on her work. She went and saw them during the holidays but other than that she avoided the pack unless it was the full moon. This morning she would have loved nothing less than to keep up that streak, she had her first gallery opening in two days, and so far eveything had gone off without a hitch. But as she looked at her coffee pot this morning she was greated with the ungrateful reminder, "FORMAL DRESS!" that she needed to find something to wear for her debute, because as her manager had so kindly reminder her last night, "If you show up covered in paint, or wearing one of those god forsaken tshirts and ratty jeans I will stab your eyes out with your own brushes!" it'd been a cheerful phone call for Rosemary. So instead of say crawling back into her comfy bed, or calling her boyfriend for some naked fun time, she did something she could feel in the back of her throat would probably be a bad decision later and called the one person she knew would be able to help her. I need your scrawny ass to help me go shopping. her voice was flat as she said it, acompanied by an eye roll. and before you try to give me some blah blah blah talk about my wardrobe, I just need a formal dress. she could feel the bile in her stomach at the thought of a formal dress. She hated dresses and shopping, there was a reason she'd skipped prom, and chose to live in huge baggy shirts and jeans.
Rosemary bit her lip, she knew she was being a bit of a bitch to her sister, but she really couldn't stand to be nicer with the sick feeling in her stomach. She looked in the mirror that hung across the hall, her hair was in a curly mess with chunks of paint running threw it, a nice red streak painted her cheek like she'd been trying to hard to blush, her pale arms were covered in sharpie doodles from hanging out at the dinner last night. She wasn't the dress up type of girl, she didn't know what she was going to do, with an added groan, so will you help me or am I going to be tomorrows headline with "Local Artist shoves enough fabric down her throat to suffocate while dress shopping," she teased with a smile hoping to get some sympathy from her sister.
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