Color Me Pretty

by C. M. Stunich

  “Excuse me,” I say as I hold back tears and grab at the fabric of my dress, rushing between tables where I swear I can hear people laughing. Look at the fat-skinny bitch. Pathetic. If there's one thing humans were born to do, it's eat, and she can't even get that right. She's a failure at life. I hit the door to the bathroom and stumble inside, moving across the slick tiled floors into the largest stall at the end. I push inside and collapse to the floor before the first wave of nausea hits me. I don't even have to stick my finger down my throat the first time. I just lean over the toilet and it happens.

  I vomit up my ninety dollar meal, and I shake the whole time I'm doing it. The beautiful red hair I've borrowed, that I've taken from another person and put on my head selfishly, vainly, begins to drift forward until gentle fingers pull it back, swipe it behind my ear. Emmett.

  “Go away,” I whisper as I grip the sides of the toilet. Thank God, this is a swanky restaurant or else this would be much less hygienic. Everything looks pristine. I feel wrong anyway, dirty, a failure of the worst kind. I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn't perfect. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it right, and I didn't. I'm just here spontaneously. I shouldn't be. I can't.

  “No.” Emmett's voice is firm but comforting. I put my finger into my mouth and he grabs my wrist gently, not like he's going to physically try and stop me but enough that I have to think twice about it. “You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

  “I lost count,” I whisper as I stare down at the messy water. How pretty is that, Claire? How glamorous is vomit? In-between Claire is raging, trying to wake up my monster, trying to engulf me in pain. The better I get, the harder she'll fight back. This is just the beginning, but if I resist her now, I'll be one step closer to healing my body and my soul. “I don't know how many calories I ate.” Emmett squeezes me tight, presses me so firmly against his body that I feel my breath escape me in a rush along with a few, stray tears. I let them fall, but I hold the rest back. The thought of seeing Ted and Liza with puffy, red eyes kind of makes me want to scream.

  “Let's sing a song,” Emmett whispers, leaning back and putting just enough pressure on me that my hand slides off of the toilet seat and I end up sitting in his lap. He should run away from me, escape this toxicity that I spew into the air around me. But I know he won't and that makes me feel like I can actually beat this. Maybe not today or tomorrow but soon. My rebirth will not be for naught. There are people who don't get second chances; I am one of a lucky few. I can't waste this. It would be wrong.

  “What song?” Bile rises in my throat, burns the lining with acidity. I push it back. That's a first.

  “How about … Mary Had a Little Lamb?” I snort and then sniffle, snatching a piece of toilet paper from the roll to wipe at my mouth and nose with. I must look absolutely ridiculous sitting there in my expensive dress on the floor of a public bathroom. Any other guy would be disgusted with me. But not Emmett. He must be like a fucking saint or something.

  “You want to sing nursery rhymes with me?”

  “Why not?” I don't respond to that, but I don't throw up again. I swallow down my pain and turn to face my new boyfriend, the one that I wasn't looking for, the one that I didn't want. God, I got lucky.

  “I'm sorry about your mother,” I say as I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. I want to kiss him, but my mouth tastes like regurgitated duck. Not exactly the most romantic thing in the world. So I just look at him, and I try to tell him with my eyes that I didn't mean to come in here, that it was an accident. He bites at his lip for a second and then shakes his head.

  “It's alright,” he tells me, but I know that it's not, not really. I wish Emmett could feel vulnerable with me. Yet another goal for me to strive for.

  I scoot back and force myself to my feet, and he follows. I look down at the floor and I can't find the right words to say.

  “If you change your mind about the nursery rhymes, I'm always game, just so you know.”

  “You're too good to me.”

  “Maybe I'm just right?”

  Emmett holds out his hand, and I take it.

  When we get back to the table, Ted and Liza are already on their way out.

  “Sorry to eat and run,” Ted says, but when I look at his food, it's untouched. At least there's a wad of cash on the table. “But I have a business matter to attend to.” And just like that, Ted Sinclair leaves his son standing alone with a crazy girl, leaves him without any closure or further explanation, leaves him with the news of his mother's death and doesn't care.

  When Liza gets up, when she walks away from the table, neither Emmett nor I miss the purple bruises that decorate the skin on her upper back.

  That scares me.

  Emmett and I don't wait to go the tree house. Even though it's raining outside, and it's dark as hell, we drive straight there after dinner. Me, with my tummy rumbling, and my throat sore, and Emmett quiet and brooding. I've never seen him brood before, and it kind of scares me, but I'm suffering so bad that I don't know what to do except let him hold my hand while we ride in complete silence.

  When we pull into the parking lot, and the orange lights highlight his frowning face, I finally speak.

  “He hasn't changed,” I say, stating a fact we're both already aware of. Emmett nods. “Maybe he never will?”

  “I don't think so,” he replies as he switches off the car and lets the sounds of the engine fade away, swallowed up by the pounding rain that ricochets off the metal above our heads. “I had hoped so, but I think it was just wishful thinking. I wanted to be able to forgive him, but I don't know if I ever will, especially if he's still taking his pain out on other people.”

  I look down at my nails and I wonder about Liza. Is she like me, punishing herself? Does she stay with Ted because she doesn't believe she deserves any better? I don't have answers to my questions, and I probably never will. But if Ted can't change, how can I? Maybe people just stay the same, always.

  “I don't have an umbrella, so we'll have to make a run for it,” Emmett tells me. “Do you remember the way?” I'm not sure that I do, but I know he'll lead me there anyway, so I nod.

  Together, we climb out of the warm, dry car and into the rain. Him, in his suit and tie. Me, in a designer gown and heels.

  Our footsteps sound loud against the pavement, echoing in the quiet night as we splash through puddles and trudge through mud. The forest is so dark that even the moon can't penetrate it. It's as if we've entered a cave and traveled deep within the earth, to a place that sunlight never sees. Emmett, though, he doesn't falter, just keeps pulling me along, past bushes, between trees. My dress is so wet that it feels like it weighs a million pounds, and it's stuck against my skin, plastered to my legs and my back and my ass. The wig, fortunately, stays on my head, but the bits of soggy hair slap my cheeks as I run, and I can't help but wonder how terrible I look. Hopefully not as bad as I did that day I went to see Lianna Cheung, when I embarrassed myself beyond belief. Fortunately, there's not enough light here for Emmett to see me, so I figure I'm okay.

  Just when I think we're lost, Emmett pauses and pulls me forward, closing my hand around one of the rungs on the rope ladder. Before I start to climb though, he wraps himself around me, warm and wet, and presses his mouth against my ear.

  “I want you to know that if you fall, I'll be there to catch you.” My heart skips a beat and my mouth goes dry. I don't even know how to respond to that, so I just start to climb, Emmett right behind me, arms on either side of my legs, positioned just so. But he needn't be so worried. I made it up here at my weakest, and my lowest, and now, I'm starting that arduous climb up the other side. I have the strength, if only barely, to make it up to the tree house, to rise to our escape.

  Rain lashes Emmett and me as we climb, ascending into darkness, breaking through the incessant stream of water as we put hand over hand, foot over foot, and finally, find a bit of moonlight waiting at the top. There's not a lot of it, and I'm sure the clouds will soo
n cover it up, but for now, it's there, a small stream across the wet, wood floor of the tree house, like a welcome mat.

  I pull myself through with a groan and collapse onto my back. Everything up here is wet, and water is draining in through the glassless windows and the skylight in mini waterfalls, but it's okay. It's alright because we're here together and nobody can take that away. I roll to my side and watch as Emmett emerges through the opening in the floor next and scoots his ass onto solid ground, leaving his legs dangling dangerously into the dark depths below.

  “This was stupid, wasn't it?” he asks. I smile.

  “Probably. But was it worth it?” Emmett thinks about that for a moment. I can see just enough of his face to know what he's going to say next.

  “Yeah, I think it was. How about you?”

  I sit up and look around, at the curtains we hung and the bedding we laid out. It's all wet, but otherwise undisturbed. It might be rainy, but it isn't windy. At least there's that. And this place, even in the dark, even in the wet, is so magical, such a far cry from everyday life that I couldn't ever find fault in coming here. Even if the forest were on fire, I think this place would stay safe. I think it'll always be safe.

  “Yeah, actually I do.”

  I get on my hands and knees and crawl over to the area between the two beds. It's the driest spot there is, plus, if I position myself just right, I can look up and out the skylight at the dancing tree tops and the gray clouds. Emmett joins me and curls himself around my body, so that I'm tucked into him, head under his chin, body wrapped in his arms.

  “I'm sorry about dragging you there,” he tells me. “I shouldn't have even gone. It's not like … it's not like I knew my mother anyway.” He's still sad about her death though, sad that he never got to know her, sad that she cared more about herself than she did him. If she had loved him, she would've taken him with her and not left him with a man who hurt others to make himself feel better. “Besides, I knew he'd never changed. I just … I hoped.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I whisper although I don't know if I really believe that yet. I close my hands and let the sound of the rain lull me into a half-sleep.

  I think it's a long while later that Emmett speaks again.

  “Just because he hasn't changed doesn't mean you can't,” Emmett tells me. My eyes open and focus on a trickle of wetness that's dripping onto the green and brown bedspread we picked out together. Seems like that took place years ago, but it was only a week. Just one week.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because you're stronger than him. Ted is weak, Claire. That's why he hurts others to make himself feel better. I used to think he hurt them because he got off on it or something, that he was a sadist or whatever. But I don't think that's true anymore. I think he's damaged so deep inside that he doesn't know how to handle it, so he punishes the people around him for it.” Emmett pauses and takes a deep breath. “I can't let his pain or their pain be my own. I can't save them if they don't want to be saved. That's the first step to recovery. Knowing you have a problem, wanting to change it. I stopped cutting because I wanted to. You can do the same thing.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask him, sitting up, scooting away a bit, so I can try to see into his eyes. It's hard up here, bathed in this all consuming darkness. The moonlight has fled, but I still feel okay, still feel at peace. This dark isn't the same kind that was in my soul. This is different. This dark is just a different side of light, a frame if you will. Something to show you how pretty the glow of the sun is. It's just a comparison, not an enemy.

  “Me?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Of course. I was more worried about you.”

  “Because of the puking?” Emmett reaches over and touches my hair, taking it gently between his fingers. At first, I think he's just touching it affectionately, but then he starts to pull the wig away, and my hands come up and clamp down around it. I stare at him like he's completely lost it.

  “Claire,” he says, trying to move forward. I scoot back.

  “Emmett.” I don't want him to take my wig away. He pauses and drops his hands to his lap.

  “I was worried about you because I didn't want you to feel discouraged. Not everybody can beat their problems, but you can.” I think of Kylie when he says that, and I wonder how she's doing. I really, really hope she calls me.

  “How do you know that? Look at you. You thought you were over your pain, but you're not. Your dad is still haunting you, but you can avoid him. I can't avoid food, Emmett. Not without dying again.” He looks up at me and the shadows on his face shift enough that I know he's smiling.

  I start to cry. Goddamn it.

  “Claire,” Emmett says again and then the wig is being lifted away from my scalp and set aside. Before I can protest, hot lips brush against the fine layer of hair there, tease away the pain and the embarrassment with warmth. I want to punch Emmett for taking it off, but I can't. All I can do is sit there and tremble and wonder why he's not the one crying. “My father is the perfect example of what happens when you refuse to change, when you remain steadfast in your belief that nothing can ever get better, that life will always fail you. Yes, I think I went there hoping that we could make up and that I could forget everything he ever did, but that's not the way life works. I know now that I was on the right path, that I'm going to have to wait. If he decides he needs help, I'll be here.”

  “And you'll forgive him?”

  Emmett sighs and I know this is hard for him. But he's getting through it. And he's doing it without any help from me.

  “I can forgive him for what he did to me, but not what he did to them. All I can do is help guide him to it. That is, if Liza and the other women even want to forgive him. Some of them stay, I think, because they feel like deserve it, like they should suffer for whatever it is they think they've done. I don't want you to feel that way, Claire.”

  “I'm not the same as them,” I protest, and I'm not, but I'm similar. Like Emmett said before, different fur, same animal. Pain. Acceptance. Recovery. It's universal. If I want to get better, I have to get through it. “Are you mad about the purging?” I ask tentatively. If he says he is, I'll probably get pissed, push him away and grab my wig back. But for now, I just sit there and let the tears fall. I can't seem to stop them, no matter how hard I try.

  Emmett holds out his arms and I fall into them, letting him hold me as the rain drizzles down around us.

  “Of course not. It was a mistake; it's over now. Not a big deal.” I close my eyes and burrow my face into his armpit. Could I have survived this without him? Short-term, maybe, but not long-term. Eventually, I would've relapsed and gone right back to doing what I'd been doing. Right now, there's a hope for something different.

  I gather my resolve together, pull it tight into me, and lay there knowing that right now, nothing can hurt me. Nothing.

  Over an hour passes with neither of us speaking.

  When I finally do get the courage, I pull back and look up at Emmett's face. It's peaceful. He's back to just being. I like that. He can touch his pain and tease it and recognize that it's there, but he can also forget about it, live as if it never was. That's what I'm going to have to do. One day, it will disappear for good, I know it will.

  “Emmett,” I command him, and he looks down at me. This time a shaft of moonlight catches across his face and makes his eyes shimmer. “Kiss me.” He smiles and does what I ask without protest, bending low, capturing my mouth with his as the rain switches direction and starts streaming through the skylight straight into our faces. It pours down our skin and coats us in slick wetness as we drink it in between kisses, taste a piece of night sky and a bit of freedom. That's one of the things I like most about being out here: there's nobody else around to see. Whatever happens here belongs to us and only us.

  A thrill runs through me, like I've been shocked by lightning or something and for a split second, I feel like Old Claire, like the fiery redhead I was before all of this started. But I can't be her ag
ain. I have to be New Claire because she's stronger, better, because she can fight off the demons and sing with the angels.

  I tear Emmett's wet shirt open and buttons go flying. He looks surprised but not displeased as I kiss my way down his wet belly and go for his pants. If it was cold up here before, it isn't anymore, and now everything just feels hot and wet, like the water could evaporate at any moment, turn into steam and scald us both. Emmett stops me after I undo his pants, before I can put my mouth around him, and he pulls my face up with gentle fingers under the chin, kisses me again.

  “I want to look at you,” he whispers against my lips and I swear, the tree house spins in circles around me. I crawl onto the bed and bring him with me. We lay side by side and kiss without tongue, pressing our lips together as water pools around us. I think we could drown and we wouldn't notice. We're too busy touching and feeling, warming up cold bodies with fervid fingers and shedding our wet clothing. Most of it has to be peeled away, like the layers on an onion, stripped slowly off, dragged down, thrown away. I think my dress falls through the hole in the floor, but I'm not sure. In the moment, it doesn't matter at all, not even one, little bit.

  Emmett slides on the top of me and then moves down, spreading me open, so he can taste me along with the rain. I look up through the skylight at the storm and I decide that even if it doesn't pass, even if it stays this way forever, it's not so bad.

  Emmett has the pleasure of being the first man to ever venture below, to ever bring me to the edge of pleasure with his mouth. I don't tell him that, but I think he knows anyway, and he's damn good at it. He knows exactly how far to take it before he stops and comes back to me, entwining himself in my arms before he slides his cock into me, before he brings stars to my eyes and hope to my heart.

  We fuck in the tree house, and it's the best sex I've ever had, best for us both, I think. Because up here, it's just us, and there's nobody passing judgment. Up here, I don't think about the size of my breasts, only that his hands are on them, his mouth. I don't think about how boney my hips are, only that they're cradled against his pelvis. Emmett makes me forget and I love him for it. I do. I really, really do.