I was wrapped in a tight red dress.
Four-inch stilettos were on my feet.
Another man's coat was slung over my shoulders.
How do I explain those shits to my boyfriend? "It's... It's not what it looks like, Michael. I can explain." Ah, classic.
Before I could stop them, the words were out of my lips. I knew I sounded like a lying b***h, but hey, it's the truth. I did not do anything wrong to Michael, or to our crumbling relationship, but it felt like I did.
My palms were sweaty. Despite the chill of the recently-rained down city, I was sweating buckets. My eyes were wide and my lips were trembling. I was sure I was a mess, but Michael just stood there, unmoving, like a cold statue of an Angel.
The silence that came from Angel boy was deafening. He just stared at me, his eyes like
