Two weeks pass and nothing changes. I don't relapse,
but I don't improve much either. I gain a few pounds, but not enough. I have energy, but not a lot.
I hear nothing from my family; I don't contact my friends.
I decide that until I can gain more control over myself, I should stay away from them.
The blue fabric slides through the sewing machine and out the other side, pooling on the coffee table in a heap. I push it through fast and finish my seam, dragging it back around for inspection. Looks pretty good. I'm pleased with myself. I mean, I should be getting better. All I've done for the last few weeks is go to sewing classes with Emmett and fuck. That's pretty much it, but it's amazing, and it's just surreal enough that I feel like it falls outside the scope of normal reality, which is exactly where I need to be right now. I'm not ready to face the world as a whole yet.
My dress is taking shape, slowly and cautiously, and yeah, maybe it's riddled with mistakes, but it's my creation, the first one I've ever had the guts to realize. I fold the fabric in my lap with a sigh and stand up, shaking out the wrinkles and tossing it over the back of the couch.
When Emmett's at work, it can get awfully lonely around here. I have no car and no money to spend even if I did.
“I need to get a job.” Even as these words leave my lips and float around the quiet room, I know that need and want are two entirely different things. I need a job, but I do not want one. I want a career, always have. I pause on my way into Emmett's bedroom and glance down the hall, towards the back door that I never use. My tongue slides across my lips as I turn to face the single window winking sunshine across the floor. I might be wearing men's socks and a baggy tee, but I think I can still rock it.
I start walking, keeping my arms by my sides, my chin up, my hips forward. I pound the wood floor in my thick, woolen socks, imagining as I go that they're heels, something flashy, tall and fierce. And as I walk, I analyze. Will this make me happy? Will this complete me? When I hit the door, I pose and tuck my lower lip behind my teeth. I look in the glass and pretend that a hairless girl with sunken cheeks does not look back out at me. God, I can't wait to feel sexy again. It's certainly been awhile. When I'm with Emmett, when I see myself reflected in his eyes, I feel pretty, but it never lasts. Like I said, I have to find something in myself. He can only take me so far.
I walk back down to the end of the hallway and am surprised when somebody starts clapping.
I spin to face the intruder and find Kylie North standing in my living room.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt as my heart pumps fiercely and my body reels from a rush of adrenaline. She looks around the room with her bright, green eyes, takes in the sewing machine, the drawn blinds. I must've left the door unlocked.
“I knocked, but you didn't answer,” she says as I reach up a hand to wipe hair from my face. And then remember that I don't have any. My hands fall to my sides. I look at Kylie and see that she's got on a beautiful long-sleeved jersey dress that hits her mid-thigh and shows off legs that are white, but not pale, more like they've been carved from stone or something. The fabric is gorgeous, purple with blue flowers, a Christopher Kane piece if I'm not mistaken, which I could be. I feel so out of the loop now.
I cross my arms over my chest to hide the faded Earth Day logo that's printed on the black fabric.
“So you just came in?” I ask her, but she isn't really listening anymore. She's gravitating towards my dress, my work in progress that I'd rather nobody saw. I don't stop her, though. I feel like I can't even move. She looks so pretty, and I … I don't.
“I called the number you gave me, and nobody answered. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“How did you get this address?” I ask her as she scoots around the coffee table and picks up my dress. I glance away. I should be creeped out that she's here, that she just walked in and saw me parading down the hallway and making an ass out of myself, but I'm not. Frankly, I'm just kind of happy that she's still alive.
“Um, the Internet?” she says, like that explains everything.
“That's fucking creepy,” I tell her, but she isn't listening. Kylie tucks some of her bouncy curls behind one ear and unfolds my dress, holding it up to her curvy body and popping out a knee.
“How do I look?” she asks, glancing around like she's trying to find a mirror or something.
“Kylie,” I snap, trying to get her attention. “What are you doing here?” Finally, her face gets serious and she puts the dress down. A sigh escapes her moist lips as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes.
“You said you needed a friend, so here I am.” She pauses and lifts her head to look at me. “And honestly, I could kind of use one, too.” I continue to stare at her. “I drove two hours to get here,” she tells me, and then I, too, sigh.
“I'm glad you're – ” I pause because I'm not sure how to phrase this.
“Not dead?” Kylie asks, and I grimace. She just shrugs and moves around the couch closer to me. “Me, too. And it's because of that thing you said to me.” I look at her skeptically. From what I can remember, I was hardly helpful. That, and our discussions primarily revolved around the mundane.
“What thing?” Kylie smiles and stands up on her toes, so she can reach out to touch my fuzzy scalp. I scoot away from her and give her a weird look.
“You know, if you got some shine serum and just slicked this forward, it would look fucking awesome.” I don't know how to respond to that. I just stare. I even think that my mouth hangs open a bit. I hadn't ever thought to try to style these fuzz wisps. Holy shit. I reach my fingers up and brush them over my scalp. Kylie steps back and looks down at the floor. Or maybe she's staring at the black suede Tory Burch booties on her feet. I know I would be.
“That whole, one road, two forks thing.” I keep staring.
“You mean, you can always find a scenic detour to your destination?” I butcher Emmett's beautiful words, I know, but my memory is better than Kylie's. She snaps her fingers at me.
“Exactly! That. That, and … ” Kylie looks around like somebody might be listening, and then leans in close. Her voice comes in a whisper. “Those poems, those drawings.” Oh. My face heats up and my cheeks go pink. Better than sallow, I guess. Kylie takes a step back and turns around, moving over to the fireplace and running her hands down the smooth, dark wood of the mantel. “I memorized them both. You're really good at that, you know … writing poetry.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I don't think I'm any good at all. I think I just scribbled down some words from the soul and they happened to resonate with her. I keep this to myself. If they helped her, who I am to complain?
“So I thought I'd come over and we could go to lunch and start working out our shit together, like sponsors or something, you know from AA.” I want to say no, to tell her to go away, but it is awfully lonely here. My self-imposed isolation is wearing thin.
“Okay,” I tell her. “But I don't want to go to a restaurant.” I haven't been to one since the dinner with Emmett's father. I don't know if I'll ever go back.
“That's stupid,” Kylie tells me, turning back around and coming straight for me. When I move out of the way, she goes directly into Emmett's bedroom and lets out a whistle. “God, it's messy in here.” She pauses. “But also clean. How strange.” The closet doors come open as I step up behind her. “That's what people do. They go out to restaurants and they eat. That's what we're going to do. And then we're going shopping.”
“But I don't, Kylie. Anorexics don't.” I shudder. Every time I say that word, I get sick to my stomach. I still don't feel like an anorexic. I don't feel like a fat girl anymore either. I just feel … ugly. I guess that's progress, right? “Besides, I don't have any money.”
“Well, I do, and you're going.” Kylie takes out one of the dresses Emmett bought for me and unzips it. I haven't worn any of them since the night at the tree house when Emmett and I accidentally trashed that black gown. It was worth it,
but … I've been sticking to stealing Emmett's clothes. Then I don't feel like an ugly girl playing dress up. I just feel like an ugly girl staying to her station.
Kylie removes the dress, a cold shoulder number with a brown butterfly print. It's by Jean Paul Gaultier, that much I do know. She turns around and hands the outfit to me. I look at it and then up at her. Kylie might be outgoing, but my demons, while subdued, still howl loudly enough for me to hear.
“I don't deserve this dress,” I tell her which brings us full circle back to the source of all this pain. I don't feel that I deserve happiness, so I starve myself in the false pursuit of it, a pursuit that I know I will never complete. Kylie doesn't feel she deserves happiness either, and so she feels the world would be best without her in it. Ted has no idea what happiness even is, so he hurts others, denies them the one thing he can't have. It's such a fucked up cycle. And it all comes back to punishment. I'm punishing myself again.
“Claire,” Kylie tells me and it's only then that I notice the scar across her throat. It's not so visible now, but I imagine that when she made the cut, it was pretty horrendous. I can't even believe she survived. “Yes, you do. You know that, and I know that, and this guy, the one that says he loves you, he knows that, too. Put the dress on and slick your hair forward. Put on some makeup and let's go. You know you want to.”
And I do. I really do. I open my mouth to protest again, but the words won't come out.
I head into the bathroom, change, and soon find myself in the passenger seat of Kylie's SUV.
“Tell me one thing you like about being anorexic.” I turn to stare at her like she's completely lost her marbles.
“What?”
“Tell me. Just one thing.” Kylie glances over at me, accelerating beyond a normal speed and taking the SUV around turns that would topple my Fiesta, let alone this massive boat of a vehicle. My stomach lurches. I haven't eaten today, not surprising. I don't usually eat unless Emmett is there to bear witness. I don't trust myself. Not anymore.
“I guess I miss the exercise,” I tell her with a shrug. I really do miss going for runs in the morning. I wonder if I should start up again. “But don't ask for a second thing because there really isn't one.”
“Then what's your least favorite thing?” she asks me next. I watch the exit signs fly by and wonder where it is that we're going. It kind of looks like we're heading towards the mall.
“Seeing the fear on everybody else's face.” I don't elaborate because I shouldn't have to. There's nothing more to it than that. I wish I could snap my fingers and change everything, cure myself of my afflictions with a magic spell. But that's not how any of it works – not anorexia, not bulimia, not self-harm, not depression. I look down at my skin and realize that I haven't had another thought about putting a blade to my flesh, not even once. Something about the rebirth brought my emotions roaring back. Despite everything, I smile.
“I wish you could've meet Madelyn,” Kylie tells me as we take the next exit. Yep, we're definitely heading to the mall. Feels like I haven't been there in forever. “I think you could've helped her out.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, I think you have the power to change. Maybe some of that would've rubbed off on her? Madelyn was weak, really weak.” Kylie shrugs her shoulders like she doesn't care, although it is pretty obvious that she does.
When we pull into the parking lot, I step out of the car and pause, feeling the wind and the sun on my skin, wondering who's staring and why. My eyes scan the crowds, the people with shopping bags, the families dragging their children, and I realize suddenly that nobody is looking at me. Not a single gaze flickers my way. My lips turn up in a grin, and when Kylie offers her hand, I take it. It's never felt so fucking good to go to the damn mall.
Inside, I drag Kylie over to the Super Smoothie and the boy slinging drinks like he's in a saloon and not behind the counter of a franchise.
Emmett makes the crowd smile, makes their wait a little more bearable. It's such a waste to have someone like him back there. He should be out in the world, making a difference, stirring up the status quo. My heart swells for him as I stare, as I watch him tip the bill of his beanie at his customers, as his eyes swing through the thick crowd of people and fix on my face.
Marlena made a mistake firing Emmett. As soon as he graduates, he's going places. He might not know where, but that's alright. Someone with a heart as big as his can't fail. I bring Kylie over for an introduction.
“So you're the one,” she says by way of greeting, before I even get a chance to tell him her name.
“Emmett,” he says as he hands us a pair of samples. I stare down at the styrofoam cup and the orange liquid within, and I have no clue how many calories are in there. I drink it anyway. It clogs in my throat for a minute, but when I glance up, Emmett is grinning and that makes it worth it. “Emmett Sinclair.”
“Kylie North. And I don't know what this girl's told you, but she's in love, too.” I roll my eyes and give Kylie a look. Emmett just laughs and glances over his shoulder. His manager's looking this way and he doesn't seem too happy about us cutting the line. “We're heading up the stairs to this place, The Winged Ones. I guess it's supposed to be in a garden or something?”
“Oh yeah,” Emmett says, giving me a half-lidded look that the crowd of girls behind me don't fail to miss. I hear noises, some disappointed, some gossipy, but that's okay. I think they're just jealous anyway. “The rooftop garden. It's amazing. You'll love it.” Another glance over his shoulder. Emmett's manager isn't paying attention, so he moves over to the counter where the register is and he hops it while the customers look on, wraps me in his arms, kisses me.
A thief of breath, that Emmett Sinclair, a man who steals hearts and doesn't care that he's doing it. And he's mine. I wasn't sure at first, but I am now. Who wouldn't be, after a kiss like this?
My hands find his hair, his find my waist, and I taste strawberry banana smoothie and heat. My tongue slides over his and he flicks his against mine, and then it's all over and he's pulling away. I try not to groan.
“Well, have fun,” he says as he jumps the counter again and manages to steady himself and fix his apron before his manager sees. “I'll come visit you on my lunch if you're still there.” Emmett tosses me a wink and starts in on his next order.
My heart does a series of ridiculously dangerous acrobatics in my chest, moves worthy of the Olympics and finally settles, warm and full beneath my ribs.
When Kylie gives me an I told you so look, I roll my eyes and start to walk away, towards the escalators.
“Have you told him yet?” she asks, and I really, truly forget that I don't know this chick at all. That instant attraction we had to each other at the clinic resurfaces, and I feel like we've been best friends since third grade. Which, of course, makes me think of Jennifer and Leanne. I really should call them. If I'm honest with myself, I'm sort of afraid to. Jennifer looked at me with such contempt before … And I'm terrified to find out what they think of me after the whole misunderstanding. Do they really believe I'd try to kill myself? I guess the only way is to call them up and ask them.
“Told him what?” I ask as we step onto the metal stairs and pause, letting the escalators do the work. People rush past between us, but we ignore them.
“That you love him.”
“I told him that I thought I loved him.” I look up and my gaze catches on the designer dresses that line the windows. I don't think I'll ever stop loving fashion, but I can't become consumed by it either. I have to figure out a way to make it work for me and stop trying so hard to fit in with it.
“Not the same thing,” Kylie tells me, following my gaze, smiling up at the store fronts. “Tell him and see what happens. I have a good feeling about this.” She sighs and her eyes get cloudy, like she's lost in memories. When she looks back over at me, they're a bit shiny. “Dex never looked at me the way Emmett looks at you.” I try to apologize but Kylie won't let me. “Save it,” she says. “For somethi
ng that matters.” And that's the end of that.
When we get to the second floor and step off the escalator, a familiar voice catches my attention. It's as if the world slows around me, pauses so I can spin and find my mother and sister walking straight towards us. They don't see me yet, but they will, and I don't know how I feel about that.
Kylie notices my strange look and follows my gaze. When she sees the two redheads approaching, bags swinging by their sides, lips smiling brightly, I think she knows. I've never admitted this to anyone, but my mom, sister, and I really do look alike. I turn away suddenly and start walking, moving quickly enough that I'm pretty sure they don't catch me before I hit the front of what used to be one of my favorite stores. I hide behind a chic rack of summer tees and try to breathe.
Kylie follows me in and says nothing.
“Sister?” she asks. I nod. “Mother?” Again, a nod. Kylie watches me for several minutes and even waves off the scores of sales girls that approach. “I have a story to tell you. Want to hear it?” I shrug, and my new friend smiles. “Let's go get lunch and I'll tell you over food.” She pauses. “But you don't have to eat if you don't want to. You just have to sit there and watch me eat.” So Kylie turns away and starts off in the wrong direction. I let her go for a second and then chase after, redirecting her back to the stairs that lead up to the roof garden.
“This better be worth it,” I tell her, but she says nothing. I don't see my mother or Marlena again. I don't know what would've happened if they'd seen me, but I can't guess anything good. Nobody's stopped by or called since M's last visit. I'm starting to get the feeling that they're not going to. They are never going to be able to step outside their own comfort zone and accept that what happened, happened, regardless of how it started. And as far as Emmett goes … If they can't see the beauty brewing inside of him, then they're idiots. That's all there is to it. I try not to be upset about this.
Color Me Pretty Page 11
