It's past seven and I head upstairs to start getting ready for tonight, showering and pulling on a new dress. I am going red, in a slinky, loose and floaty number that is more summer days than nightwear, but I am not in the mood for figure hugging and sexy. I still feel weird and out of sorts, and I am doing everything in my power to not think about Feral. Jackson took care of it. It's done and I need to forget it as a nothing in my life. My bruised heart will heal, and it will only serve to help lock it up tight in its metal coffin once more. Every new scar just hardens my resolve to never care again.
I cared too much for something that shouldn't have mattered and now I need to get over it.
I am not in the mood for playing seductive hostess tonight. I want people to leave me alone, so I
