Hoje tenho más notícias se tu és uma mulher que pintas as unhas. Um estudo inovador feito por cientistas da Universidade Duke, na Carolina do Norte, USA. testaram 10 vernizesdiferentes num grupo de mulheres. As mulheres colocaram o verniz e, pouco depois, a urina foi testada. Quando os pesquisadores analisaram os resultados do teste, descobriram algo surpreendente. Eles descobriram que 8…
Kosmetik: Chemikalie TPHP in Nagellacken führt zu Lähmungen und stört Hormonfunktionen Welche Frau möchte nicht gerne mit gepflegten Händen glänzen und gönnt sich entweder eine Maniküre oder lackiert sich die Nägel?
2 September 2012. H-1 TPHP JAVACUP #3 2012. 20:34 WIB. Foto ini adalah foto gue yang lagi istirahat dari latihan buat flashmob pas penutupannya. Dan ga kerasa, udah 2 bulan pasca acara. Rasanya pengen lagi ngerasain euforia Javacup. hahaha
"Time to wake up," Vince kicked the edge of his bed where the naked man lay. Well, he looked more like a naked boy but Vince hadn't spent a lot of time looking at his face so pondering that didn't bother him all that much.
He kicked the bed again and this time, the stranger jumped enough to fall out of the bed. His hands shook and the look on his face said he was scared. In the back of his mind, Vince felt bad but there was a point to be made here. Rules had to be followed and if he didn't stand his ground everyone would eat him alive.
"Get the fuck out," Vince walked to his computer table and picked up a cigarette, lighting it with the tip of his finger. Normally, he'd care what people saw but the kid had so many drugs running through his system Vince wouldn't doubt he didn't remember his own name.
"B-bu-b-but," the kid's teeth were chattering from withdrawal or fear, maybe both. To Vince's own dismay he found himself with a handful of hair, stretching the kid's neck back so far he was worried it might snap back off.
"But what? You tell Danny next time he sends a skank my personal information I'm going to set his fucking house on fire and make sure his wife and kids are locked inside. I don't care how bad you need your pills or whether Danny's fucking low on stock. While I appreciate the referral I don't need shitheads like you begging at my doorstep."
Vince pushed the kid's head away from him; his patience growing thin from the guilt starting to well up inside of him. Images of Torrance's smile flashed across his eyes and it cut him right to the heart.
"I. SAID. LEAVE," a fireball formed in the palm of his hand. While the kid was looking frantically across the floor for his clothes or his pills, maybe even both, his eyes widened at the fire. As he started to run to the front door Vince threw it as forcefully as it could, hoping it scared the kid from ever thinking about coming back.
In his fear, the kid slammed into the hallway wall trying to run from Vince but the door slammed in his face. Vince couldn't afford to feel bad when he went through all of the effort of being an asshole.
The apartment was quiet, painfully so. As Vince looked around he noticed the tangle that was his sheets and it churned his stomach. He stood staring at it, willing himself to slam it shut like he had the front door. But, before he knew it he was leaning over the toilet and releasing the measly contents of his stomach.
"I'm sorry, Tor," he whispered to the immovable porcelain.
Minutes passed, though he couldn't tell how many, until he was ready to flush the toilet and stand back on his feet. With a flick of his wrist he turned on the shower as hot as it would go. Since he was already naked he only had to step under the the scalding waterfall to try starting the cleaning process.
Instead, he just stood under the water. He put his hands against the wall so it could support his weight as he felt the water hit the back of his neck and cascade all the way down his body. Eventually, he managed to soap himself down and force his way back into the living room. Without looking, he closed his bedroom door and fished another cigarette since his first had dissolved with the fireball.
There was a white envelope on the stack of bills he'd been putting off; not because he didn't have the money but because he hated the process of paying bills. Writing checks was such a pain in the ass. The process to keep all the accounting for it was an even bigger pain so he always tried to do it in one big lump. This envelope, though, bore no markings and Vince tore at it from the side.
Two neon tickets fell onto the table denoting information for an upcoming party. He bit his bottom lip when he remembered calling around for them. The address was close, one of the warehouses by the water Vince lived so close to. His heart skipped a beat because for the first time his connections had produced a more positive result. These tickets, he hoped, would put a smile on Torrance's face.
The smile that seemed to glow; the smile that warmed him and relaxed every muscle in his body for reasons he had no way of understanding.
Therein lied the dilemma. He cared for her, deeply and liked knowing he could make someone happy. At the same time, what he just went through, peddling prescription pills, talking old women out of their money just because he was nice to them, all the things he did to survive were so far beneath her he couldn't imagine getting her near any of it. Vince always feared someone pissed off enough would track him down eventually and, if that happened, he never wanted anyone caught in the crossfire. It was the single biggest reason he stayed so detached from anyone and what fueled his desire to be as much of an ass as he could be. If he didn't have anyone, no one would get dragged down with him.
Oh, God, but he wanted that smile. Since Eden he'd always been a sucker for smiles.
Vince covered the tickets with the envelope they came in. He still had a few days to decide what to do. Right now he needed to forget.
He pulled a single pill from one of the baggies stuffed into a small metal box under his couch. Vince only dug into his business stash in dire emergencies. Now would probably be the closest he'd come in a while, considering everything going through his head. He just needed help until he could forgive himself.
In the kitchen he poured himself a glass of scotch to chase the muscle relaxant with and, after chugging the entire thing, forced his way back to the living room.
The television turned on and he grabbed the thick wool blanket that hung over the back of the couch. He curled himself in it and closed his eyes, telling himself he did what he needed to do, not because he wanted to.
