Natasha
I wake with an aching head and terrible breath and guilt that adds an extra fifty pounds to my chest. I slept in my stupid cocktail dress, which now feels like another punishment.
Last night, a million years ago, when I put it on, I felt so seductive. I'd been thinking about impressing Dima, remembering his erections every time I massaged him. Hoping he might see me as worthy of asking out, especially now that there was competition.
Now I wish to God I’d gone in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. At least they would've made better pajamas. I can’t stand to be in this thing for another second. To say I'm not the cocktail dress type would be an understatement. I live in skinny jeans and Chucks.
I search the drawers in the bedroom I'm in for a t-shirt but find nothing but a spar
