Eternal Paradox by WhoaaNicole (romantic love story reading .TXT) 📕

“She needs less work than you do. Now close your eyes.”

I did as I was told. By noon, Claire announced my makeover was almost complete. My straightened black locks cascaded well past my back, and I allowed Claire to cut a few inches off of it. She looked pretty happy with her work, but wouldn’t let me even touch a mirror.

“For dramatic effect,” Claire told me.

Her excitement affected me so much, I was a little eager to see the results. The suspense gave me a reason not to think about Nolan.

Stella was as beautiful as ever; she’d gotten the special treatment, too.

“Now, on to the nail salon!” She said, her arms spread.

Stella obviously knew the drill. We piled into Claire’s coupe, and made the 5-mile voyage to the salon.

I knew exactly what I wanted. A nice French tip, nothing too flashy. But Claire had other plans.

“She‘ll take burgundy, medium acrylic, please,” She said to the woman at the counter, indicating me. “Give her black, medium acrylic too.” She pointed at Stella.

I wondered what Claire had in store for us. I had no idea what our costumes would be, but I hoped I’d like mine.

We went back to the apartment with fresh manicures and pedicures, and took a few hours of downtime. I sure needed it.

At five, we started again. When Claire presented me with the corset, I thought I’d faint.

“What? We gotta give those babies some extra oomph!” She nodded at my chest.

“What the hell are you making me into? A prostitute?” I asked, bewildered.

“Is that what you want? Because I could always-”

“No!”

To be honest, I was a curvy girl. My small waist and long hair had been around for as long as I could remember, but my teenage years brought along another nice gift - a bosom that grown women would pay thousands of dollars to mimic. Claire’s voice brought me back to the present.

“Take it off,” she said, rummaging through her closet.

“What?”

“All of it, silly.” She tossed me the corset. “And put this on.”

This time I accepted the garment, eager to cover up again.

“Stella!” Claire yelled, her head sticking out of the door. “We gotta tie this thing up.”

Thirty minutes later, the corset was just loose enough to allow me to breathe, and Claire was done with my makeup.

“Okay, it’s time for the big reveal!” She pushed me over to the full-body mirror, and allowed me to ‘revel in my beauty’.

And revel I did. The girl that stood before me couldn’t be Adele Haskings, teenage empath. She was lovely, with her high cheekbones and flawless skin. The girl’s full lips had a small pout to them, even though she grinned like an idiot. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched, and her smoky almond eyes stared back at me in wonder. The girl’s body was very defined; she was shaped a little like an old-fashioned coca-cola bottle. My eyes watered a little, and Stella cursed, noticing the tear.

“No! Don‘t mess up the makeup, Adele!” She said, tissue in hand. She dabbed at my eye, and left the eye shadow immaculate.

Claire brought a black and burgundy gown into the room, and I glanced at my toes and fingernails. Yep, the perfect color.

It was thrown over my head, and they tied the dress in the back the same way as the corset.

Then it dawned on me: I’d been transformed into a princess.

“Do you feel like you‘re from the Renaissance?” Claire asked me, and I felt her sense of accomplishment.
“Yes, Claire, you did great.”

She fixed my hair up into an elegant chignon, and moved on to tousle Stella’s. She was in a short black skirt that hugged her hips, and a black and yellow striped shirt. The neckline plunged in a way that I’d never be able to pull off. Her black wings and puffy antennae finished the look.

“Bumblebee?” I asked, smiling. I was actually a little excited for this party.

“Yeah,” Stella replied, putting in her hoop earrings. Her eagerness was so intense, she radiated a golden air that only made her more beautiful. “I wanted to give you the stage tonight.”

“Uh-huh. That‘s why you‘re dressed in a shirt that shows your belly button. From the top.” I’d exaggerated, but she looked down anyway.

“No, it doesn’t! And look at where your dress stops!” Stella retorted, turning to search her dresser for a necklace.

It was my turn to look down. I’d been so amazed with my appearance above the waist, I hadn’t noticed how short the dress was. Sure enough, I looked like a whore. A very expensive, medieval whore.

“Okay, so we‘re evenly matched.” I said, realizing my comment was a little hypocritical.

“Yeah. But anyway, Connor‘s coming to pick us up.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Adele, do you know where Trent Miller lives?” Stella turned, a smile forming.

“Oh. Nah, I have no idea. I don‘t stalk Connor‘s little football friends.”

“That‘s why. And he‘s our designated driver, too.”

“You plan on getting drunk?” I said sarcastically.

“I plan on having fun. I can have fun sober, sure, but who can pass up free beer?”

* * *

Connor arrived at around eight. Stella and I both burst into giggles when we saw his outfit. His eyes bulged at mine.

“Wow,” he said, openmouthed.

“Wow,” I repeated.

Connor sported beige khakis, a white collared uniform shirt, and the cherry on top, bright purple suspenders. His dirty converse and square-shaped glasses added to the look.

“I like your pocket protector,” I said, easing the tension that emitted from Connor’s muscular body. “And the tape on the bridge of your glasses adds a nice touch.”

Stella ruined the mood. “You‘re a jock nerd, Connor!” She said, holding her side. “You‘re a jerd!”

“Or a nock,” Connor agreed, “But that doesn‘t sound as cool.”

As soon as Stella recovered from her episode, we went downstairs. The ride to the party was only about twenty minutes from Stella’s house.

“Ahh, no parking,” Connor said when we pulled up in his Jeep.

“Park on the lawn,” I suggested.

There were plenty of cars already there. We pulled up next to a black mustang convertible. It seemed familiar, for some reason.

We walked in, and the feelings that blasted me were almost all the same. Lust, excitement, jealousy. I staggered, not expecting the onslaught of emotion.

“You okay?” Connor yelled into my ear. I could barely hear him above the music.

“Yeah… yeah, I‘m fine.” I balanced myself in Stella’s three-inch heels, and sat down on a coffee table. “Go on, have fun.”

I waved off Stella and Connor, and tried to sift through the emotions that pelted my brain.

As I adjusted to the change, I felt two people completely without emotions. My mind immediately filled with thoughts of Nolan, the sensation of his lips on mine…
I turned, expecting my psychology partner to appear
before me. But it was someone else.

I evaluated him as he strode towards me. He was good-looking. Really, really, good-looking.

And I thought Nolan was cute.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, extending his hand to me. “Please, allow me to introduce myself.”

I took his hand. To my surprise, he pulled me up with one smooth movement of his arm. I immediately looked down. Thanks to the heels, I stood at a lofty 5’10”. The suave guy that held my hand seemed about five inches shorter.

“Lucas,” he pronounced in a French accent that sounded like music. Beautiful music.

“Adele,” I replied, flattered.

Golden hair and glittering emerald eyes occupied my field of vision. Not that I wanted to look away.

I’d never seen him around at school, I was sure of that. Who did he know here? I took a moment to look around. All I saw were drunken costumed teenagers, dancing and playing beer pong.

Then I remembered there was a second person here that I couldn’t sense.

“Hey doll,” Nolan whispered into my ear, leaning his head over my shoulder.

I dropped the Frenchman‘s hand. “Nolan,” I said breathlessly. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Out,” he answered instantly. “And about. I see you‘ve met my friend.”

“Lucas?” I asked. “This is your friend? But he‘s French!”

“I told you she was beautiful,” Nolan said to the blonde, ignoring me.

“Beautiful is an understatement,” he replied, sounding perfectly American. My jaw dropped.

“Screw this,” was all I said.

I walked away, leaving Nolan and Lucas to compliment each other. I noticed a tray of Jell-O shots on the kitchen counter, and grabbed one for lack of anything else better to do.

I’d never been drunk before. Not even a little. But there was a first time for everything, right?

What the hell? I thought to myself, and I swallowed the shot like a pro.

Almost immediately, the emotions I’d fought so hard to block seemed to slip away a little. The auras became fainter, and I felt myself grin.

“Stella!” I called to my friend, who was already wasted.

She stood up quickly for a drunk girl who’d just been grinding on a complete stranger.

“Yeah?”

“What did you drink?”

“A few shirts of gin, and a sterberry margaria,” she slurred.

“Get me that.”

“Will do, captain,” she gave me a salute, and stalked off.

Two margaritas and a long island iced tea later, I was dancing on everyone within a three foot radius. I could barely feel any emotions, and I felt great.

I felt human.

Then I bumped into a police officer. No, not a police officer. Ivy Michaels dressed like one.

“Ugh,” she said in that nasally voice.

“What the hell‘s your problem?” I asked, gaining courage from the alcohol.

“You‘re my problem,” she yelled at me. “And you need to get out of here. Who invited you anyway? Loser.”

She pushed me, and I pushed her back. The partygoers around us noticed the tension, and backed away.

Ivy and I were both drunk. There really wasn’t a reason for her to fight me, but there was three years of torment that I hadn’t paid her back for.

Ivy punched me in the jaw, and again in the lip. I felt the skin break, tasted the blood in my mouth. That pissed me off, and I could feel myself sober up a little.

That did it. I let my barriers down, allowed Ivy’s anger and the crowd’s excitement to course through me. It was exhilarating, and scary at the same time. I brought up my right arm, and punched her in the face with all my might.

I felt her nose break under my knuckles.

“OH!” The crowd yelled in unison.

There was blood all over the hardwood floor, and I scrambled to find another drink. The emotions were so intense and excruciating, I felt as if my head would explode.

I drank with vigor, and sighed as the pressure lessened. I had to get home. And never touch alcohol again.

“Come on,” Nolan’s voice said behind me.

He