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Dear Diary,
I wake up from the gleam of daylight, coming from my balcony door in the room I'd spent most of my early mornings in. My head was still pounding from the excruciating headache from whatever alcohol indused carouse I had indulged in last night. Mother stormed into my room, snatching one of the goose-fluffed pillows from underneath my head and gave me a whack right in the nose job. "OW!" I exalted. "Bianca Valetina Gascoigne! Get up! You're going to be late for you ballet class!" she snapped. I rolled my eyes. Why on earth am I waking up to the sound of the former blonde bombshell shriek in my ears in the early hours of the day when I have specifically asked a wakeup call from the family maid Aretha? And since WHEN has this woman cared about what I was doing and where I was to be going? "A dear friend of mine from the Royal Academy of Ballet, Vanjeqha Sterring, is visiting Aldan on business, and she was overjoyed to hear that you were still attending regularly." She glared and rolled her eyes as she air-quotted and put emphasis on the word "regular". I huffed. So, she wants me to help her impress one of her many old acquaintances from the 80's? I'm not surprised. That's usually the only reason mother bothers talking to me half the time. The other half if I somehow "embarrass" her infront of said family friends. I batter my eyelashes carefully, somewhat trying to comprehend the information she had just roared at me. "You REEK of vodka. Go clean yourself up, then check back downstairs for the breakfast prepared".
I head out the glass doors of our penthouse apartment onto the bustling streets of the Aldan East Side. I had swung my monogrammed Louis Vuitton neverfull bag over my shoulder. It's not my first choice, nor my taste. But it's the only item that could fit the entirety of my essentials that I needed if I was to make it through this intensive 2 hour class. I begun to pace down the street, taking a swurve at the junction down the street. I'd already been running late, as usual. And if I was to take a cab or the family's car service I'd have been stuck in the mid-morning traffic. Which totally wasn't an option, if I didn't want the woman with the iron-fist in Louboutins shipping me off to a one-shop stop to some rundown boarding school in the Swiss Alps. I'd have escaped again, most likely. But it's really not worth getting 1st degree frostbite for the second time, trekking through the snow in an adjusted school uniform skirt and the tip of my nose nearly freezing to complete ice. I dash up the steps of the old brick building in the corner of 74th St. It was one of the old dance studios NYCB would use back when Balanchine was still alive. It was now known for moderate sized class filled with the 1%'s offsprings, who used the dance to brush up on their eloquent and mannerism skills. The class I had taken was instructed by Madame Janith Tusloir. She was a retired ballerina, who pushed practically all her students to the limit. She did not think highly of any of us. And she was a TOTAL pain in the ass. Chantelle and I have mimicked her gestures and annoying, scowling voice since we first joined the class together. I saw the raven haired girl neatly tuck her bun into place with extra bobby pins and hairspray. "Hey BIOTCH!" I exclaimed. A death stare shot across the room from Madame Janith to us. She hated us, but I couldn't blame her. I'm used to it. I rolled my eyes. "Hey hoe!" Chantelle giggled back. "I didn't expect to see you here after your "shocking" preformance at last nights mixer". "Mother insisted I come today. Something about some old collegue from Paris. Or London. I can't remember. Her words get jumbled up after a while of high-pitched screeching". Chantelle had always been more athletic than me. Not that she'd even need to work out. She'd always been naturally slim. Which I was totally NOT jealous about. "Duchess Bianca! Dahling! It's been so long!" A thick Parisian accent called out. Vanjeqha Sterring was an elderly woman. Very well dressed, and smelt discreetly of Chanel No.5, if I'm not mistaken - which I usually always am not. She kissed both of my flushed cheeks. "So good to see you, Mrs. Sterring!". A familiar voice sneaks up behind us. "Bianca! Is this your grandmother?! OMG.. She looks sorta different from last time I saw her!" Chesca. She's one of my dearest friends, but she seriously could get a clue every once in a while. "C'est la vie!" Mrs. Sterring pronounced at the young Asian girl. Chesca blinked and placed her finger on her chin. I assume contemplating what "cheese la veet" meant with her few braincells that remained. I nervously laughed. "Oh, hehe! My friend Franchesca was just making a joke! What she meant to say was-" we were interrupted by Madame Bitchloir. "ENOUGH OF THE CHITCHAT! LINE UP BY THE BARRE, CLASS WILL BEGIN NOW YOU SPOILT HELLIONS!".
"Au revoir, Mrs. Sterring!" I grinned genuinely as Chesca and Chantelle stood by both my sides, outside the infamous dance studio after class. Mrs. Sterring and and Madame Tusloir must have known eachother. Throughout the 2 hours of agony, they'd be gossiping and "catching up" in the corner of the room the entire time between exercises. I wasn't complaining, though. It distracted Bitchloir into a calm state of mind and had almost completely forgotten to give us rigorous corrections the entire class. My legs were trembling afterwards. They always would after ballet.. which always made another certain activity a lot more challenging. "We're still meeting Poppy and Amie for brunch, right?" Chantelle uttered, as we watched the slightly large French woman trot away down the opposite direction. I configured the question in my head before replying. "I suppose so". "Oh, and Lilly's coming too!" Chesca added. Ugh. Lilly. We do not get a long. Firstly, dying her hair bright silver to match her metal chain chokers was sooo tacky. And she dresses like a blindfolded hoodrat! To top it all off, she has absolutely no table manners and would continuously annoy me in particular during our outings. "What?! No way" I rebutted. "Aw, c'mon B! If it was Kenzie or Gigi you'd let them tag a long!" Chantelle interrupted. "If it was Kenzie, maybe. If it was Gigi, I would prefer a death penalty" I responded, pondereding as I begun to let out a sigh. "FINE! She can come.. but you owe me a lend of that limited edition leather beret you bought at the Hérmes Fall Winter 2015". She squeeled, then clutched onto my slender waist and wrapped her arms around me with a big bear hug. I rolled my eyes again and begun walking, the others following suit behind me.
We all sat around the table, waiting for our orders to be served. Ambrose and Poppy leaving no time inbetween gasps for air for any pleasantries. They'd both been passionately making out ever since we all sat down together. I'd considered that they were making somewhat of a scene around us. But then again, there is one brunette I wouldn't mind locking lips in the middle of a public setting too.. if he'd allow it, of course. Lilliana had kept herself busy by carving a skull into the table of the café with her pocket-knife. "Eww, Lilly. That is so reckless and SO immature". She grunted and gave me some sort of moody "look", which I assumed was meant to intimidate me. Little did she know, I totally was. This girl is a new-wave emo. She could spike my cappuccino with Rohypnol and I would have passed out in MINUTES. Chesca was busy replying to Matt's texts to notice me glaring over, hoping she would condemn her sisters behaviour? Chantelle lip began to curve a smirk. I was about to snarkily reply to one of the 2 girls, but was interrupted by the waiter serving us our meal. I took a small bite out of the buttery croissant. I heard they bake them fresh in their bakery hourly. That, and they just unfreeze gigantic parcels of them in the microwave for 3 minutes. Eww, I did not need any unnecessary carbs at the moment. I watch as Amie and Poppy continue to feed each other romantically their chocolate engulfed strawberries a là mode. Chantelle and I nearly gagged in sync at this. Lilly spoke up again. "I'm working on a new album. One of the songs I'm thinking of naming "All Good Girls go to Hell" she took a sip of her water. Lilly never really ate that often. "Inspired by Bianca" she chuckled. I just narrowed my brows at her. What was that supposed to mean?! "And all rap-star wannabes go to juvie. Your point?" I shot back, swaying her shoulders as I pronounced each syllable. "Hey guys, maybe chill kinda? People are starting to stare" Poppy mentioned. The first thing she said all the time! My blood was starting to boil. "Oh, I'm so SORRY for causing a scene! I didn't even notice that our arguing interrupted your steamy MAKE OUT SESSION!" I yelped. It went silent for a while. You could cut the tension with a knife. "...Wanna go to Le Chocolate L'amore?" Chesca asked, with her best French accent. "SHUT UP FRAN!" I yowled. Firstly, she invites her, quite frankly, ANNOYING sister. Then, she sexts her boyfriend the entire brunch, totally IGNORING how impolite Lilly was being! Now, she suggests to go to some lousy French chocolate shop where SHE could indulge and I would be stuck with the option of eating as much as I could until I barf, or suffocate on the intoxicated city air. Neither sounded very appealing. I reached into the bottom of my bag and flung a 200 dollar bill at the table. I'm not the most organised of people, shocker. "Well, you can go ALL BY YOURSELVES because I DO NOT HAVE TO SIT HERE AND BE MOCKED. I AM A DUCHESS! MY FATHER COULD SUE YOU FOR EVERYTHING YOUR FAMILY PROCESSES IN JUST ONE DIAL!" Lilly had just scrunched up her nose and rested her palm against her head, while Chesca COMPLETELY ignored my entire rant. Amie and Poppy had gone back to smooching; and a whole lot more. I glance over to Chantelle, who frowned. "Umm.. B..". She pointed to my bag, that had been completely drenched when Ambrose and Poppy slammed the table by accident, knocking over the miniscule chocolate fountain they'd order between the 5 of them. "ARGH!" I let out a defeated shout. I am SO TICKED OFF. WHY was I cursed with such an unfortunate life?! (irony!).
Xoxo, B 💖. |
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