EIGHTY-ONE.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror, my reflection gazing back at me with uncertainty. In one hand, I delicately hold a black dress, its fabric flowing through my fingers like a dark river.

In my other hand, I clutch a white dress, its pristine hue contrasting against my fingertips. A moment of indecision hangs in the air, as I ponder which garment to wear.

About an hour ago, I had put my father to bed. I believe that today's events were too much for him to handle, and true to my word, I took him to the hospital with Jax where he accompanied my father to his appointment with Dr. Cameron for a checkup.

I wasn't in the mood for his smart-arse personality, and I'm still pretty salty about his undesirable opinion about us being poor like it's a choice.

Besides, I didn't get much sleep last night. I tossed and turned as I tried to make sense of what had happened with Alessandro in the middle of the street.

I think it's safe to say he is like my human-form kryptonite. He makes me