She’s gone shy, and this time, it’s real. She fidgets with the boning of a cream-colored corset, her fingers lingering along the garter belt, the lace-trimmed stockings.
“ I’m supposed to wear this under the dress,” she says, her fake anger already forgotten.
Long and rich, silky against her skin, and-when I’m lucky- against mine. Her hair is beautiful at any length, but it’s been longer lately. I drink her in, her soft curves, her smooth skin. She compounds this farce by clutching an article of clothing to her chest, feigning modesty. She holds on to her frown for a moment longer than is honest, her eyes narrowing in a show of frustration that is pure fraud. “ Please continue,” I say, gesturing with a nod. I lean against the unusually white wall, studying her as she frowns at me, her lips still parted around the shape of a word she seems to have forgotten. “ Surely this part, I should be allowed to watch.” “ That won’t be necessary,” I say, turning around. “You know, love, it occurs to me now that I’ve lived through hostage situations less torturous than this.” This wall, in particular, is not so white as to be offensive, but a sharp enough shade of white to pique my curiosity, which is nothing short of a miracle, really, because I’ve been staring at it for the greater part of an hour. True white is practically intolerable as a color, so white it’s nearly blue. Most shades of white are mixed in with a bit of yellow, which helps soften the harsh edges of a pure white, making it more of an ecru, or ivory. Most people think white walls are true white, but the truth is, they only seem white and are not actually white. Believe Me By Tahereh Mafi Introduction Excerpt.
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