Bianca's aesthetic ^
How Many Drinks? - Miguel (Slowed)
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Aria
"A woman who knows what she brings to the table is not afraid to eat alone." This mantra became my guiding principle as I grew up in Italy.
Throughout my life, I've been bombarded with negative tales about my mamá. Most of these stories came from Nonna, who never hesitated to voice her disdain. Every meal was a reminder; she'd say, "Don't eat too much. You'll become a pig like your mother." Those words cut deep, making me feel as if I were being labeled a pig myself.
Whenever I unknowingly mirrored my mother's actions, the consequences were swift and severe. I learned to avoid anything that might remind anyone of her. Nonna and Nonno believed they were acting out of love, determined to ensure I didn't follow in mamá's footsteps.
Despite the challenges of my sixteen years in Italy, I found myself missing it. I longed for the familiarity of home, even if it meant facing the names and taunts that came from looking like my mother. I was her, and in the eyes of many, I would always be associated with her.
But I didn't want to be her; I wanted to be Aria Reyes, my own person—not Jeanne Reyes. Yet, those haunting words, "Here lies the cold truth," lingered in my dreams. They always seemed to carry weight, a mystery I couldn't unravel. What could this cold truth signify?
My Nonno often warned me about men, advising me to trust none but to fear only God. Although my family wasn't particularly religious, they held a firm belief in His existence.
I smiled as I watched Reyes leap onto my bed and curl into my lap, purring softly.
"We should go shopping, Ari. You know, get out and do something after not seeing each other for a month," Bianca suggested over the phone.
"Yeah, we should," I replied, continuing to stroke Reyes's soft fur. Bianca and I usually went shopping every two weeks, purchasing things we often never wore.
"What time? Four o'clock? It's only two fifty-five," she asked.
"Mm, yeah. That works. I just woke up an hour ago and have been lounging in bed since. I still need to do my skincare routine, shower, and take my meds..." I explained. My morning routine was extensive, a habit instilled in me by Nonna, who always emphasized self-care.
"Okay, be ready by three-thirty because I'm picking you up. And wear something hot. Bye, love you." She blew a kiss before hanging up.
I gently nudged Reyes off my lap; she had fallen asleep while we spoke. I headed to the bathroom, grabbed my electric toothbrush, applied toothpaste, and began brushing my teeth.
Afterward, I washed my face and applied moisturizer while taking my meds. Stripping off my pajamas, I hopped into the shower, lathering my body with lavender soap.
Once I completed my routine, I glanced at the clock and realized it was already three-twenty. Panic set in; I had only ten minutes to get ready.
With a towel wrapped around me, I entered my walk-in closet, searching for something trendy to wear. A jean skirt, a white corset top, and my new white stilettos from Jimmy Choo caught my eye—an ensemble I was eager to flaunt.
