she leans into the spotless white love sofa, bringing manicured feet up as she tucked them under her legs. there’s a bowl of caramel popcorn in her lap, and she’s ruffling with a handful of kernal into her mouth, a few stray pieces missing completely and cradling down her t-shirt. she had always been a messy eater -- something her mother absolutely fucking hated, and especially when they were at events, galas, movie premiere parties.. it wasn’t very lady-like to shovel your food into your mouth and stain a custom fit louis vuitton evening gown. but as of now? she was in malibu for the show, taking a break from the simple normalcy of NYU to pretend to be this bratty wanna-be trustfund baby the second the cameras started rolling. but anyone who knew bella personally, knew she was quite the opposite. if you didn’t believe it, you could catch it yourself now, at her best-friend’s place, drenched in popcorn crumbles, while watching an incredibly boring documentary about aliens and area 51. she’s wearing purple fuzzy socks that nearly reach her knees, and one of his t-shirts that swallows her into making any unsuspecting set of eyes think she wasn’t wearing pants at all. it’s not until the other plops down on the couch, does she lean against their shoulder. “so--” she starts, a mouthful later. “the paps saw me leaving your place this afternoon, and i’m pretty sure your name is going to be on the cover of every gossip magazine in holly-wood tomorrow.. but on the plus side -- i’m stuck here until the army outside dies down.”
