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   Chapter 9 I Condemn Women To Hell

I Like Your Shoes By Sivani Yasashree Characters: 10499

Updated: 2018-11-19 22:43

[Calum Achorn]

In around fifteen minutes, Ambrosia Bellemore made me sick of life. In the course of thirty minutes, I'd had enough of women to last me a life time. In about an hour, I was contemplating jumping out of the flying airplane, yelling 'I condemn women to Hell' on the top of my lungs.

"..I wasn't athletic, but you know that. I wasn't good at playing the flute, or the cello, or the bagpipe. I wasn't good at painting. Well, I suck at painting. I can't draw an apple without making it look like a potato." She rambled on and on.

I don't sigh. I think I'd filled my quota of sighs for a lifetime.

"My sister, Neave, she masters the piano, can speak fluent French and Italian, can paint like Picasso, can sew well too, given she's a doctor and stitches her patients every other day, and she plays tennis every Tuesday with her fiancé, Paul."

I flash her a look, even though she's far too gone to notice.

"And you? What can you do?" I ask tentatively.

"Me?" She snorts. "I read books all day, write stories that are far too dark for anyone's liking. I'd rather stay home, eat junk food and watch shows all day long, rather than getting out there and actually conversing with people. It's like I'm something taboo. But you know that, you knew everything about me in High School. But that was a long time ago." She sighs and I tense. Did I slip up?

But then she sighs. "It's like I'm something taboo."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." I say in a condescending tone.

"Is it not?" She asks, her slurred voice rising an octave.

"No." I mumble.


"Nothing." I say, watching Ambrosia Bellemore for the first time. There was something different about her, I couldn't place my finger on it, but it was certainly there. She was a rebel, she didn't try to stand out, but she did anyway. She wasn't cliché, infact she was far from it. She was like an empty canvas, even though she was colourful. It was as if she painted herself differently for different people. Tints of blues, blacks and reds, all seeming different to different eyes.

I just had to figure out the real one.


[A few snores, kicks, and hours later, Ambrosia Bellemore]

I don't open my eyes.

I can feel someone breathing softly next to me and the distinct tap tap of leather boots. I don't remember where I am, or how I ended up with my head on someone's shoulder.

Do I have a boyfriend?

No, no. That can't be. My generous body, my bad sense of style in fashion, and a weird sense of humor made sure that I would end up alone for the rest of my life.

"Open your eyes now, I know you're awake." A warm voice I'd never heard before instructs. But it wasn't what I'd been expecting. The voice seemed older, and a bit scratchy. My eyes flash open.

I tried to remember if I'd a fetish for older men.

Do I?

No, absolutely not.

I lift my head slowly from the man's shoulder.

"Hey, darlin'. Are you feeling okay?" The voice asks again. I slowly tilt my head to the side, testing. My head feels heavy, my mouth feels like something died in there, and my hair is probably standing out of my head like antenn

ough. On their trip, they fall in love. Drew Barrymore grows closer to his girls, and Adam Sandler to her boys, they marry and live happily ever after."

"Well, yeah. Sort of." I agree. "But there's a lot more to it that the fairytale life you described. Like how they fall in love, not at first sight or all of a sudden. They let love get to them, they waited love to get to them you know, they waited for love to show it's full potential. And they didn't fall in love just for themselves, they fell in love for and with their children. Love is supposed to be like that, you know. Selfless, not just for you, for both of you and for everyone else you love." I say, taking a deep breath.

When I pry my eyes away from the small screen, I see Benjamin staring at me with his eyes wide.

"What?" I ask, taking another sip of the coke.

His eyes start sparkling with everything I'd hoped to see in the eyes of my mother; awe, love, wonder, and most of all, respect. He was beaming at me.

"You're something, Ambrosia Bellemore." He whispers.

My breath catches. And I blush. I could've done anything, like jump off my seat and perform swan lake, or sing "call me maybe" at the top of my lungs, but obviously my body had different plans like, "Neah Am, we ain't gonna let you humiliate yourself in front of the world, instead we'll make you do what every other girl does when she's shy, you gotta blush!"

"You mean something apart from being fat, ugly, and annoying?" I retort shyly.

Shyly? I hate you, body.

He chuckles lightly. "Well, yeah."

"Cool." I say and continue staring at the movie, even though nothing of what was happening on the screen made sense to me. I could feel Benjamin's gaze boring holes into the side of my head.

"Do you want my coke or something?" I ask cautiously, wondering what excuse I'd give so that I wouldn't have to share my drink. I could always say my saliva is contagious, but that would be so weird.

"No, I'm good." He chuckles softly.




"Yeah, Benjamin?"

"Let's play twenty questions."


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