Chapter 6: Chapter 1.2 – GUY ~ I wanna be that guy

Sara walked through the alleys of the clothing in Macy’s. She had a blouse in her arms and was looking for a nice dress to wear with Michael, while she was being introduced by the Devil. She kept trying to ignore the thought of meeting him. What was he like? What would he think of her?

Sara, don’t care what that little dickhead thinks of you. Sara knew Michael will be there. He will comfort her. She took a deep breath and couldn’t think of what to wear. Something white? She would prefer to wear something black.

Sara saw in the corner of her eyes across the women’s clothing, to a group in the men’s clothing, picking out nice pants. A girl with flaming red hair was sitting on a comfy chair next to the dressing room, commenting on what looked good or not on the men.

Sara grabbed a mini skirt and went to the changing room for the women’s and tried on her blouse and skirt. She looked at herself in the mirror. The blouse showed more cleavage than she liked, she barely revealed her breast. It was nice fitting around her waist. The skirt was snugged around her hips. She wanted to know if she could fight well in the skirt and if it had enough freedom to move. The small room gave her no room to let herself do a practice excuse of throwing a punch or a round kick. She left the room and out of the women’s dressing room.

The red flaming hair girl laughed at one of the men, “Your ass looks so nice in those pants.”

A blond friend answered, “Yes, you look so fucking gay right now. Turn anyone on.”

The man wearing the pants crossed his arms bitterly, “Seriously guys?” He huffed and looked at himself in the mirror. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Keep it!” the group exclaimed.

Sara dismissed this conversation as she did a punch in the air a nonexisting person in the face she punched. She swirled around and kneed up to the invisible groan and another fist punch to where the guts were.

She then ran down the alley and let her body fall down at a certain angle and fell down, letting her legs skid comfortably across the floor, the rest of her body following the same suit as if she was diving underneath something.

The skirt flew up, flashing some underwear, but she didn’t care. She stood up, seeing the group now watching her. She didn’t bother to look back at them. The skirt looked in a good condition, with no scratch marks and no holes. She knew this skirt was real leather or it would’ve torn by the move she did.

“Nice move,” the girl purred, “Where did you learn that move?”

Sara glanced at her as she walked back to the changing room. She nervously grabbed her arm tightly sideways and said, with a little awkwardness, “I taught myself that move.”

She quickly went back to the dressing room without waiting for a response. She put back on her clothing, deciding where to start looking for a dress.

Sara had social anxiety. She was never much around humans and the ones she were at the Heroes’ Headquarters didn’t even talk to her, and the angels were no better. She tried to make friendly conversations, once in a while, but being the Archangel’s daughter surprisingly didn’t make her famous—granted, she never wanted to be famous in the first place.

She put the blouse back on the rack, now looking through another one and eyeing the dresses. After two minutes of searching, she went to the dress rack and pulled out a short dress. As she looked closer at it, the navy dress was Gothic and medieval. It looked like a cosmal play dress.

Sara shrugged and tried it on. She went out of the dressing room, to look at the full length of three-sided mirrors. The dress had a nice Gothic corset around her waist, showing off her hourglass and her curvy hips. It did lift her breasts, leather strip across the bloomers. The young teenager swirled around, the elegant bottom flying around like a fan.

Sara took down her ponytail, her curly, glossy black hair bouncing down and up, her dark eyelashes fluttering up to the mirror, her hair reaching low on her bosom. She twisted her hair around, thinking if it was appropriate to represent her father...Well, if the Devil doesn’t know I am Michael’s daughter then it shouldn’t matter.

She glanced at one of the sides of the mirror, seeing a reflection of the guy, who was trying on the pants, sucking in a breath. But not an attractiveness from her, Sara didn’t understand the reaction. It made her uneasy. She stepped down the platform, feeling how surprising that the corset was comfortable.

Sara could easily fight in this dress without much trouble.

The red-haired girl said, “Looks pretty on you. You should get it. You're getting it for a party or something?”

Sara felt her face flush, quietly answering, “My dad wants me to meet his brother and dress nicely.”

The girl scanned her up and down, “Not sure if that would be formal.”

The guy replied, “Just wear it. If you like the style, I am pretty sure your father will understand.”

Sara stared at the guy’s chocolate eyes, “Um, thanks. I will.”

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“What’s your name, honey?” the girl asked.

The young girl looked at the three men and the one woman. Could she trust them? After all, it was just her name, not as if she was given off her personal whereabouts and life, “Sara.”

The woman nodded and went to her, shaking her hand, Sara trying not to yank away, her heart beating a million miles, “My name is Elena.” She gestured to the three men, “That’s my boss,” she pointed to the guy, “That’s Jackson,” in which she turned to the blond man, “And that’s Caliber,” as she reached to a tall stocky person. “A day to spend time together.”

Elena’s boss concluded flatly, “We needed clothing.”

Sara didn’t understand why they were talking to her and the boss was looking at her strangely. She went back to the dressing room, not sure what to say to them as she did. In her clothing again, she walked back out, rooming through shirts, having the Gothic dress across her shoulder with the mini skirt.

The hours passed and she went to the checkout with new pair of black high heels, a Gothic dress, a white blouse, and a mini skirt. During those hours of looking, she kept looking up at the boss. He looked, familiar as if she saw a twin brother of his. The group was behind her, talking about what to have for dinner when their guests came over.

Sara took out her father’s credit card and swiped it. The pin number popped up and she grimaced. She didn’t remember what the pin number was. She typed in some guessed numbers, but it declined. After a few minutes of trying and the cashier getting tired of her, Elena’s boss walked up.

He swiped his own card, “I’ll pay.”

Sara burst in exclamation, “No, you don’t have to! I forgot the stupid pin number!” Her eyes gazed at him with awestruck but her body swayed back, nervous if she was going to say something wrong. He was being such a gentleman, she didn’t know how to react.

The boss smiled, “It’s not a problem.” He paid before Sara could do anything to stop him.

Sara gasped and did a weak smile, “Thank you so much, sir. That was really kind of you.” She lowered her head in embarrassment.

Jackson snickered, “That’s the first someone told him that.”

Sara let out another smile and tucked her hair behind her ear uncomfortable, not sure how to express her feelings of gratitude, “I owe you.”

The boss shook his head, “No. It’s fine.”

The cashier gave her items in two bags.

Sara stumbled out her thanks again, “What’s your name at least?”

The boss stared at her, “I rather not say, but have a good day, Sara.”

Sara grunted out her frustration with him being so stubborn, “Thank you.” She repeated and waved bye to them, and they waved back.

Elena put the clothing down, “She’s cute.”

Caliber said, his voice naturally deep, like the echoing of an endless cave, “She’s has social anxiety.”

“No shit,” Jackson responded. “Nice of you to pay for her items.”

The boss stared at Sara leaving. His thoughts chewed on his brain. She reminded him of someone. He didn’t know. He looked at her again and knew that for some reason, she drew his attention. He dismissed Jackson’s comment and his thoughts; and paid for their stuff.

 

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