“Wow…” I sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t know what to say…” They exchange triumphant glances, and I pretend to think it over for a minute. “You know… I hate to be blunt, but… I don’t know you girls anymore. Assuming I ever did. I don’t know what game you are playing here, but I don’t have the energy to waste hanging around with you anymore.” Enjoying the shocked looks on their faces, I continue on, just to make sure I’m clear. “But when I feel like hanging out with fake friends, I’ll be sure to give you girls a call.” Flashing them a smile as fake as theirs, I turn and nod to my mother before exiting the room. As I turn towards the stairs, a glimpse of metallic pink from the base of a cabinet catches my eye. Glancing behind me to make sure the Fashion Squad didn’t follow me out, I move towards the cabinet. From the heated conversation going on in the dining room, it’s clear they aren’t going to leave quietly. I’m glad Mom is the one stuck dealing with them. After all, she’s the one that invited them; she should have to clean up the mess.
Reaching the cabinet, the metallic pink I saw isn’t visible any longer. I look over the front, but all the drawers are securely closed. Kneeling down, I reach under the cabinet, feeling around until my fingers brush against something slick. Readjusting, I stretch my arm until I have a good grip on it and carefully pull it towards me. Finally my prize comes into view, revealing a small metallic pink purse. With a quick look at the dining room, I decide to take it with me, rather than linger here any longer. Tucking it under my arm, I rush up the stairs to my room.
Once inside, I lock the door before throwing myself down on the bed. Unzipping the bag, I dump the contents out on my bed. Lipstick, keys, mints, packet of tissues and jackpot! I grab the small ID wallet that’s not much larger than the cards it holds. My unsmiling face stares back at me through the clear plastic. What the… I though they said my ID was confiscated along with everything else they found at the crime scene. Flipping it over, the back has two pockets, each with a card peeking out. I pull the cards out, grinning as the Visa logo is revealed along with my name.
Jackpot! Time for a little retail therapy courtesy of Amazon.
Tuesday, July 28th
∞
Grinning, I rip into another box of clothes. Between Amazon and Torrid, it took less than a week for me to change out my wardrobe for clothes that I actually like. There’d been a few misses, where the reality didn’t meet my expectations and I had set it aside to return, but overall I was satisfied with the result. I’d originally planned to start small, with dresses, skirts, pants, shirts and blouses primarily in black and white, with splashes of color here and there. But an ad for Torrid had popped up while I was searching for clothes by size instead of style and that opened a whole new world of options for me.
I considered throwing out all the ugly clothes in my closet, but decided against it for the moment. While I hoped never to wear another designer sack dress, Mom and I were still trying to find a balance in the house. Starting a war by removing all the clothes I’d worn before the “incident” seemed like a waste of time.
Mom had a fit when the first package arrived, and I explained again the homework assignment the psychiatrist had given me to find my own personal style. Mom had retreated immediately, probably to call and complain, but after that she didn’t say a word as more packages arrived. The staff took to just leaving the packages outside my door.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and couldn’t help but grin. I finally looked like a woman instead of a walking sack of potatoes. I’d gone for something simple and comfortable today. Slim fitting black jeans hugged my hips and butt, paired with a scoop necked black and white striped top, which accentuated my hourglass figure. Paired with my Doc Marten boots and a little make up for color, I was satisfied I looked good.
From what I’d learned online, people seemed to be obsessed with their bodies and clothing size. The predominant look on the fashion models was thin to the extreme with hardly any curves at all. I was shocked to find out that clothes went all the way down to a size zero. How is that even possible?
My body certainly didn’t look like that. I had curves and breasts. Using the clothing already in my closet to figure out what size I am, I quickly learned that brand sizing is hit or miss. A size 10 wasn’t the same from every clothing manufacturer, and a number of my returns were due to the cut being smaller or larger than expected. Who knew buying clothing could be so complicated? Why bother putting sizes on the clothes if they change them all the time?
Regardless, at my last appointment the psychiatrist had expressed her approval of my self-discovery so far. I felt empowered to take my personal style quest to the next level. With the help of Yelp, I’d found a salon not too far from the house, and booked an appointment with a stylist. All of the web surfing I’d done, had opened my eyes to a world of options, and I couldn’t wait to change up my hair.
Piling it into a messy bun for the day, I was ready to go. I’d switched everything from the metallic pink purse into my new black and red cross-body purse. After quickly double checking that I had my credit card and ID, I head out.
When we got home from my last appointment, I “forgot” my jacket in the back seat. Once in the garage, I made sure to identify which car the keys in my purse went to. After my Father’s blow up over my new clothes on the one night he decided to grace us with his presence, I figured it would be easier to slip out on my own. I’m sure he’ll hate what I had planned for today.
With Mom out at one of her ladies things, and Father working, I only had to avoid the staff to make my escape. Sneaking out the back patio door, I made my way around the side of the house to the garage. Thankfully no one had noticed I’d left the side door to the building unlocked. I slipped behind the wheel of the black BMW M4 CS and grinned as she purred to life. I hit the garage door opener and activate the directions I’d loaded on my phone. Trying to avoid unnecessary attention, I eased out of the garage and down the drive. Stopping at the end to check for traffic, I let the exhilaration of freedom take over as I hit the gas and take off.
∞
Five and a half hours later, I survey my new look in the mirror with a smile. It had taken forever, but the results were definitely worth it. My once pale blonde hair was now a mixture of pastels. Patty, the stylist, sectioned off my hair and added streaks of light pink, purple, yellow, blue, and teal. When she finished, she’d styled them in soft curls, separating each color, so they flowed down to my waist in a rainbow. There were locks of her natural blonde in the mix, but the new colors compliment my skin tone much more. The addition of chin length lavender bangs that framed my face and made my eyes stand out in a way they hadn’t before. She’d tried to convince me to let her cut my hair shorter, but that was a hard no for me. I loved the length, cutting it wasn’t an option. Deciding to go with the little bit of bangs had been hard enough.
Since it took forever for the colors to process, I splurged on a pedicure and a manicure while I waited. I couldn’t help but admire my new long acrylic nails with their coffin shape, and elegant black and white striped polish, highlighted with iridescent glitter. So pretty, and my fingers looked so much longer.
The only thing I hadn’t really thought out was being around so many strangers. At the most, I’d only been in a room with six people at the same time. I didn’t even consider what a salon would be like when I made the appointment. Luckily it was a small shop with only six stylists and two nail technicians. So while there had been other customers in and out while I was there, the emotions never got to be overwhelming. I spent some of my time there practicing ignoring and blocking out their feelings. And Patty had a happy bubbly energy that was pleasant to be around. If she hadn’t, I’d have had to reconsider my plan.
After settling my bill, I headed outside and considered my next move. It was only two o’clock, plenty of time to get in more trouble. The salon was located in a medium sized strip mall, with a half dozen specialty clothing stores, a tattoo and piercing shop, a couple restaura
nts, and some other boring store fronts. I wandered towards the clothing stores, pausing to peer in the window of the tattoo shop. I’d seen a lot of tattoos and piercings in pictures online. I really want to get my ears pierced and maybe my nose. Too bad I have to wait till I’m 18, today would have been the perfect day.
After a quick check on the time, I head into the closest clothing store. I feel like I’ve got a pretty good grasp on my personal style at this point. But it doesn’t hurt to look around and see if anything catches my eye. Besides, it might be fun to try on some clothes before buying them for once.
I end up checking out all the clothing stores in the strip mall, killing a couple hours in the process. I found a few more essential items for my wardrobe. Who knew they had entire stores dedicated to lingerie?
Leaving the last of the clothing stores, I stagger as a wall of emotions hit me. What the hell? I’d done pretty well blocking it out in the stores. The parking lot had been relatively empty when I got here, but there were a lot more people walking around now. Definitely time to call it a day. Straightening my shoulders, I head back towards the salon where my car was parked. I keep my head down, carefully dodging the other people walking past. Almost there, I smile to myself, picking up the pace.
“Emilienne?” an unfamiliar male voice breaks my concentration. I pause to look for the source, my eyes falling on a vaguely familiar man approaching me. Frowning, I look him over as I try to remember him. He appears to be in his late twenties, average height with straight, short sandy brown hair, a large nose and a weak chin. His crisp black suit and blue tie look like he’s just come from an office. I’m sure it had to be from the hospital, since I’d hardly met anyone since being home. Maybe he was one of the lawyers that always accompanied my Father. As he gets closer, flashes of black obscure my vision. Oh God, not now. I close my eyes, hoping that it will fade quickly. I wish I knew what was causing it or what it meant.
“Yes?” I finally manage, opening my eyes. He’s practically on top of me now, but there is something about him that creeps me out. I glance around looking for an easy out. My car is too far to make a run for it, although I’m not discounting the option at this point.
“Wow Emilienne darling…” he says grabbing my arm. I barely manage to suppress a shudder at the disturbing feeling of his energy. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve changed your look.” He eyes my new hair style with clear disapproval, before trailing down over the rest of me. He pauses to leer at my chest, a wicked grin curling his lips. The nasty feeling of his energy surges, and I take a step back. “I hadn’t realized you were well enough to be out on your own already.”
Frowning, I pull my arm away from him. “I’m sorry… Do I know you?” His expression darkens, and he presses into my space. All my instincts scream at me to run, and I press my lips together in a hard line.
“Really, Emilienne?” He scowls. “I’d heard from your father that you were having some trouble adjusting since returning home. But is this any way to greet your fiancé. You do remember me don’t you? Jasper Dravon.”
“What?!?” I screech, drawing the attention of the people nearby. “Are you crazy? I’m only seventeen…” He seems to realize everyone is staring and takes a step back.
“This isn’t the place for this conversation,” he growls, his eyes hard. “You should speak with your Father. I’ll be by the house to see you tomorrow.” Without another word, he turned and walked away. I wait for him to turn the corner before I relax and head to my car. Ugh what a jerk. And Engaged? Seriously? WTF is that? I certainly hadn’t found any rogue engagement rings in my room. And the guy is like 10 years older than me. Why would I even want to get married at eighteen? I’m going to Stanford in a couple more weeks; no way would I want to start college with a new husband. I guess I better get home and have a conversation with my Mom.
Needless to say, Mom had a fit when I got home and she saw my new look. I might have felt guilty if I hadn’t had the pleasure meeting my fiancé. Of course her answer to my questions regarding that were met with her typical “you’d need to speak to your Father about that.” So freaking frustrating.
As usual my so called Father was noticeably absent for dinner. It was a silent affair with Mom was still mad about my hair, and me mad at her refusal to answer my questions regarding this engagement. At what point would my parents fill me in on important details about my life before the “incident”.
Wednesday, July 29th
∞
I was up bright and early the next morning in hopes of catching my elusive Father before he left for work. I grabbed the first dress I saw in the closet, which turned out to be a maxi dress from Torrid with a repeating pattern from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. I found that vaguely ironic, but it worked.
Rushing down to the dining room, I found Martha already clearing the table. Damn it!
“Good morning, Martha. Did my Father already leave?”
“Good morning Emilienne,” She replied with a soft smile. “I’m afraid so, he just left a few minutes ago.” I sigh and fall into the nearest chair. “Would you like some breakfast? The Chef can whip up your favorite.”
I shook my head, stomach rolling at the thought of eating. “No thank you, it’s too early for food. But if I could get a glass of orange juice, that would be terrific.”
Sipping my juice, I try to figure out what to do about the impending visit from the Sleazebag. After all, any adult that leers at a seventeen year old like that, was definitely sleazy. Hopefully he’d just skip it, but the way my luck seemed to run, I wasn’t counting on that. Maybe I should just hide out in my room till it’s time to head to the university.
∞
The knock on my door later in the day proved I definitely wasn’t that lucky.
Hitting pause on the soundtrack playing on my laptop, I sigh. “Yes?”
“Miss Emilienne, you have a guest to see you.” Someone, I assume one of the maids, announces. Ugh, I really don’t want to deal with this. “Mrs. Langmore requests you join them in the living room.” I want to argue, but it’s not the staffs fault. I head downstairs, no makeup and still wearing the dress I grabbed this morning. I’m certainly not wasting time changing for this. In fact, I’ve decided to hit the problem head on.
“And here she is now,” Mom says, with obvious relief as I enter. Interesting. She didn’t seem to like him anymore than I did… So why would marriage even be on the table? He’s staring at me as he stands. Like I’m something he’s purchased and I suppress my shudder. Wearing another black suit with his sandy brown hair slicked back, he looks the way I imagine a used car salesman looks. All insincere smiles and slick lines, ready to trick you into buying a lemon.
No point in sugar coating anything with this guy, so I just start in on my speech. “Good afternoon. I’m sure by now my parents have explained to you that one of the side effects from the “incident” is memory loss.” He frowns, but I keep going. “This being the case, I’m sure you understand the need to cancel our engagement due to the change in circumstances.” He’d been moving closer as I spoke, stopping right in front of me. He grabs my shoulders and looks down at me, his golden eyes flashing with irritation. But I keep pushing on, determined to get this over with.
“The truth is I don’t know you. I don’t remember anything about you or our engagement. I’m sorry that I don’t remember you, or our relationship. But at this point I need to focus on my recovery and rebuilding my life. After all, I’m not even eighteen yet. I should be thinking about school, not about weddings.” His hands tighten painfully and I hiss in shock at the violence rolling off him. “Let me go,” I spit, trying to pull away from him.
“I won’t accept that. Our families have been planning this for years Emilienne. You’re not calling off the wedding.” I look at him and then my Mom in confusion. What is this? Some kind of modern day arranged marriage. I don’t think so. Since he refuses to let go of me, I use the one move that I’ve seen work in every movie. A hard knee to the gr
oin and he’s rolling on the floor cursing. I back away, looking over at my Mom, still confused as to why she hadn’t intervened. She gives me a sad look, and I can’t figure out the confusion of emotions rolling off her.
“Sorry asshole. But consider that a hard no. There won’t be a wedding, not now, and not ever.”
Thursday, August 6th
∞
Sighing, I try to explain again. “Mom, the Emilienne you knew is gone. I’m sorry I don’t remember the person I was, and I’m still working out who I am now. I’m just trying to figure this out as I go. I want to have a relationship with you. I just need you to let go of the old Emilienne and accept me, Emily.”
Mom watches me closely, looking at the psychiatrist, Dr. Johnston for some kind of sign as to what to do or say in response to my declaration. I’d snuck a peak at the plaque on the door before we came in so I’d know her name, the way I do every appointment. Mom doesn’t normally sit in on these sessions, and I’m not sure what she wants from me. I’m really trying to be a good daughter. I’ve tried to obey the rules. I had brunch with the Fashion Squad. I’m not drinking, smoking, or doing drugs. The only thing I have flat out refused to do is marry the Sleazebag. I don’t think I’m been unreasonable by not wanting to marry someone I don’t know, and who I don’t want to know, if I’m being truthful.
Dr. Johnston takes off her glasses and looks at each of us in turn, her impatience filling the room. I don’t know what she has to be impatient about; at least she’s getting paid to be here.
“Now Emilienne,” Mom starts in that careful way of hers, like I’m a scared animal that might bolt at any moment. “Dr. Johnston and I have discussed your memories and how they may not return… And that’s alright. Your Father and I have accepted that. I do want to get to know you, the new Emilienne. Now, he and I talked this over last night and made some decisions for the future. You and I will be moving back to the summer house on Arcas Island for the remainder of the summer and the foreseeable future.”
Something Stolen, Something Found (The Magic Catalyst Chronicles Book 1) Page 3
