Under My Skin

by A. E. Dooland

  She did not just have ‘one little sip’. “This is gross,” she said, wrinkling up her nose as she swallowed big gulps of it. “How can you even drink this?” Despite her assessment, she kept going and she’d drunk nearly half the glass before she gave it back to me. I stared at it while she said, “It’s probably best you don’t drink it all, anyway.” She giggled. “I don’t like my chances of being able to carry you home.”

  Home sounded great right about now. God, I was so damn tired all of a sudden. I just wanted to shut myself somewhere.

  “Just you wait,” she said, leaning across the table to pat my hand. “You’re going to love the food! It’s completely awesome. You’re going to wish you could have dinner here every night.” She stopped to think for a second. “You probably could afford that anyway, right? Oh, my god. If I could afford it I’d eat every meal at this place. Maybe I’d start a food blog.”

  I knew what I’d call it, too: Adventures in Bankruptcy: Culinary Edition. It was a great idea. I could go bankrupt and get fat, all in one. Then I could be tall, fat and broke. How attractive. Well, at least I’d be well-fed, I thought, as the waiter came bustling over and placed two very large plates in front of us.

  Bree was actually right about the food. It was great. Although, given the fact the price rolled into three digits for each dish, I would have been pissed off if the food hadn’t been life-changing. It was so great that it even succeeded in distracting me from my pathetic self-loathing for at least a few minutes. I’d have to remember to thank the 12 virgins dressed in white before I left.

  I had thought maybe the food would shut Bree up, but she just kept talking through every mouthful. “So the school dance is in April,” she was saying, “And Courtney wants to take my brother which is so fucked up I don’t even know where to start. She was like, ‘You can just take my brother’, but her brother is this hideous monster who talks about girls like ‘pussy’ this and ‘tits’ that, and I’m like, ‘why would you force me to spend time with that loser’?” Bree held her fork up towards the ceiling, examining a chip she’d speared with it, before putting it in her mouth. I supposed I should be happy she was at least using the knife and fork and not her fingers. “She just wants to feel like she’s not an awful person, I guess. Whatever, though. Would you date your best friend’s brother, even if you thought everything was fine in their family?”

  “Uh…”

  “Yeah, exactly,” Bree said, interpreting that as my answer. “It is so not right. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it. Maybe I just won’t go. On top of everything, I really don’t want to see them be all gross together. I hate it when people are like that. Do you have a boyfriend? Hang on, didn’t you mention him in one of your messages? He works for Frost, too, right?” She didn’t even stop for a breath so I could answer. “Wow, it must have been really hard finding someone as tall as you. Is he as tall as you?”

  Even though I knew she wasn’t trying to be mean, that comment stung me a little. I was already not feeling that great about myself. “Yeah,” I said dismissively. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She shook her head, peeling the batter off her fish and eating it first. “I go to an all-girls school,” she told me. “St. Anthony’s is our brother school because it’s really close by, but all the boys there are total idiots and they only want one thing anyway, you know? They just stare straight at my boobs and, like, why would I choose to date that? So how long have you known your boyfriend? What’s his name?”

  “Does that matter?”

  She gave me a stern look and waved her fork at me. “Friends know friends’ boyfriends’ names.”

  “It’s Henry,” I said, giving up.

  “Henry,” Bree repeated, testing the name out. “That sounds so totally proper. Is he Asian, too? Or Aussie?” He’s both, I thought, but didn’t say so because she’d probably miss the point, anyway. Trying to follow all of this was really draining me. “Must be weird to work with him. Weird and cool. Actually, it would kind of be cool to work in an office. I always wanted to work in an office.”

  I sighed at that, and she noticed. “Careful what you wish for.”

  She stopped eating for a second to watch me. “I thought you loved your job?”

  Loved? Hah. “I’ve got a good job, that’s true.”

  She actually spent a few seconds considering me when she didn’t talk. “You’re this amazing artist, so I don’t really know why you do the whole Corporate Barbie thing, anyway,” she said, going for another mouthful. “It totally doesn’t suit you, and you shouldn’t bother with it.”

  Wow, I… felt like I’d had a knife shoved into my chest. Had she really just said that?

  It knocked the wind out of me and I sat there reeling for a moment. I knew it didn’t suit me, did she think I needed some crazy, hyperactive teenager reminding me of that? I knew no matter how much I curled my hair or bought expensive makeup or wore Jimmy Choos, it didn’t suit me. I still felt like an imposter. But I didn’t have any choice, so what the fuck was I supposed to do? Go to work dressed in a sheet?

  Just, no. No. I was exhausted. I’d had enough, I couldn’t do this. I’d spent at least a couple of hours with this girl, I’d earned myself some space.

  I just really wanted to go home and lock my fucking door and forget everything that had happened between 7 pm and now. I pushed back my chair and stood.

  Bree’s face fell. “Where are you going?” she asked, and I could hear the waver in her voice. “We haven’t even had dessert yet!”

  I shook my head, I didn’t want to explain. She guessed anyway and looked stricken. “I didn’t mean it like that, Min,” she said, standing and trying to reach for me. I avoided her as I neatly collected my bag and walked up to the desk. While I was handing my credit card over, Bree abandoned her meal and came running up to me. “I meant that I just hate the whole Barbie thing in general and that you seem like the kind of person who would be above all that superficial image stuff!”

  I had no idea if that was true or not and I didn’t have the energy to think about it. The waitress looked between us, but didn’t comment as she ran my card and let me sign the receipt.

  Bree put both her arms around one of mine. “Please don’t go, Min,” she said. “I’ll be quiet, I promise!”

  Somehow I doubted it. “Where do you live?” I asked her calmly. She frowned at me. “How far away from here is your house?”

  “Courtney lives near Parramatta,” she said when she figured out what I meant. She sounded crestfallen. “I’m going back to hers tonight.”

  I took a 50 out of my wallet, opened her hand and gave it to her. She just stared at it. “That should be enough for a taxi,” I told her, deliberately not looking at her so I didn’t have to be subjected to those big puppy dog eyes. “I’m going home. Please don’t try and stop me this time.”

  Of course she did, anyway. She followed me out of the restaurant, and as I was walking along the waterfront she grabbed my wrists and tried to put the 50 back in my hand. “Min, I don’t want your money. I didn’t mean it like that. Just come back in and have dessert.” She didn’t sound as enthusiastic as she had earlier in the evening, and I didn’t think she was channelling her cancer-curing grandmother anymore. She just sounded really disappointed.

  She probably was disappointed. But I just couldn’t do this, I felt really weird and I just wanted to go home. “You managed to get your dinner,” I said, probably sounding as tired as I felt. “Now can you just leave me alone?”

  She didn’t let it go. “Please,” she said, sounding desperate. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry. I know I say things without thinking, but whatever I say I never mean it like that. You’re awesome. Please just come back inside. The dessert here is incredible, you’ll enjoy it…”

  I had to physically pry her fingers one by one from my arm in order to get her off me. This time, though, she let me. She didn’t even steal my handbag again. When I was free, I gave her one last look. “Make sure you get a
taxi,” I told her. “Don’t risk the train this late at night, okay?”

  She just nodded mutely, her hands by her side for once. She didn’t say anything else and I could hardly fucking bear to look at her because she just looked so upset. Over a goddamn meal, seriously? Who was this girl?

  I turned away from her and continued towards the bridge, feeling my stomach sink. Now, on top of everything, I also felt like a terrible person. I just seriously didn’t have the energy to deal with her right now. I just couldn’t, no matter how upset she was. I felt like complete and utter crap, and my feet were killing me in these stupid shoes. What had I been thinking in the first place, anyway? I should just have gone straight home after work. Then I could have avoided hurting her feelings, avoided having mine hurt and felt like crap quietly in the privacy of my own apartment. Somewhere that didn’t have people walking past me who all double-took when they noticed how tall I was. I wonder if they all thought I shouldn’t bother, as well.

  Before I stepped onto the footbridge, I looked back towards the restaurant. Bree was still standing there on the waterfront, watching me.

  As if I wasn’t feeling crap enough.

  She’ll be fine, I told myself, she can catch a taxi home. I kept walking.

  FIVE

  It took me a hundred metres and couple of odd looks from strangers to forge through my self-pity and come to a decision: I shouldn’t have left her alone there.

  I stopped on the other side of the footbridge, made a face and turned, walking back to the restaurant. She’s just a schoolkid and it was, what, nine at night? I should at least wait for the taxi with her. Then, again, if her birthday was in two weeks and she was about to turn eighteen, was it really such a big deal?

  I stopped in my tracks.

  Okay, Min, think this through: going back in there with her means walking straight back into the situation you bailed out of, and you walked out for a reason. I scrunched up my face. Did I really have the energy to listen to more about Courtney, or Bree’s pregnant cousin, or about that one time Bree found a huge chunk of frozen broccoli in her pasta? God, she was nice but just so damn full on. I winced as I remembered that photo she'd taken of me. No, I couldn't face any of that. Not right now, not with how crap I was feeling.

  She’d be fine, I’d given her plenty of money for a taxi. If she could stalk me to my house before 7 am she could probably manage a taxi by herself.

  I took a deep breath, turned, and went to continue walking back home.

  I only made it two paces when I remembered how tiny she was. It wouldn’t take a strong breeze to drag that girl into a car and drive off with her. Did I want to be responsible for something like that happening? Did I really?

  I made a frustrated noise and then stopped again, turning sharply back towards the harbour and walking over to the railing so I could see across the water. Bree wasn't outside the restaurant anymore. Maybe I was worrying for nothing, maybe she was safely inside. Maybe I should call the restaurant and ask them to make sure she got into a taxi and maybe I should get a goddamn grip, Min, she’s nearly 18, not five.

  While I was standing in place and trying to figure out what it actually was that I wanted to do, an old couple who had been walking leisurely along the bridge made eye-contact with me. The woman had a pretty strange expression, and I realised how everything I'd just done had probably looked.

  Great, now perfect strangers thought I was as crazy as the girl I was worrying about.

  After they were gone, I looked down at my blouse and skirt, and beyond them, my heels. 'It totally doesn't suit you'; I could still hear how easily Bree had said it, as if it was no big deal to say that to someone. I would have been angry with her, but she clearly hadn't meant to hurt me. In fact, she'd looked mortified when she realised that she had. But just because she hadn't meant to be cruel didn't mean what she'd said wasn't true. Or... maybe I was being hypersensitive and she had meant it in an abstract sense?

  That girl, I thought. Even just thinking about her was exhausting.

  I pushed off the railing. I couldn't stand here all night feeling bad about myself and wondering whether or not Bree was safe. She was, everything was going to be fine, and I needed to just go home and avoid getting robbed or murdered myself.

  By the time I got back to my apartment, my feet were aching so much I was just about ready to chop them off at the ankles. I decided a bath was the best remedy, but I was so distracted when I turned the taps on that I forgot about it and very nearly ended up with a bathroom-sized swimming pool.

  It was actually embarrassing what I had been doing, and that was sitting at my laptop and checking my messages. She hadn't sent me one—and that didn't necessarily mean she'd been kidnapped, I reminded myself—but in the process of 'just checking' I accidentally got stuck reading some of the old ones. I was lucky I remembered the bath when I did.

  I left my phone in the living room so I couldn't keep looking at it and stressing, shed my clothes, and climbed in to the water.

  Since it was lovely and warm and I was exhausted in every way possible, I rested my head on the lip of the bathtub. With my chin on my collarbones, I stared down the tub at my body. I had a weird, philosophical moment where I reflected on how strange it was that people looked at this and thought it was me. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, I supposed. If I saw it on someone else I wouldn’t think bad things about them. It was just weird that it was me.

  My body issues were exhausting, too, and apparently now I was also taking them out on other people. Was 'that totally doesn't suit you' really hurtful enough to be worth walking out of dinner over? Would Bree have walked out if I’d told her that her uniform didn’t suit her? What about Sarah, would she have left dinner over it?

  Regardless, I shouldn't have left. What I should have done–and what Henry would have said I should have done—was just say something like, 'I'm sorry you think that', or, 'Hah, I don't really like dressing up either', and just got on with dinner instead of storming out like I was the teenager. Bree hadn't been telling me I looked terrible in general, in fact she'd said the opposite a number of times. So then why did I take it that way?

  It was just all so depressing. I was trying. I'd been trying really fucking hard with all this stuff since high school and I still hated it and it still gave me a massive headache. Winter couldn’t come fast enough; I could just pile on all the layers and ignore my brain.

  On that note, it was on the chilly side tonight so in the grand theme of hating my body and everything, after I’d got out and dried myself off I put on a big men's hoodie. Like all the comfortable clothes I owned, it used to be Henry's. He'd made the big mistake of leaving it at my house and the consequence was that it now worked for me.

  I checked my phone on the way out to the balcony. I didn't have any messages, which, again, wasn't necessarily evidence Bree had been murdered in an alleyway. Rather than put my phone where I could see it and worry about it all night, I left it inside, set up my laptop on the balcony table and sat down to watch a few episodes of cartoons.

  After another couple of wines, I ended up watching the last episode on my side in bed and was finally relaxed enough to be peacefully dozing off when my phone buzzed under my hand. I didn't even remember collecting it.

  I opened my eyes and stared along the mattress at it. It was a Deviant Art note; that meant that Bree was okay. I exhaled and unlocked it. I could just get the reassurance everything was fine and then go to sleep.

  “i hate myself so much right now :( :( im so sorry min. i cant sleep. im really sorryyyy. i cant stop crying :( :( “

  I sat up a little, read it again, and then groaned and flopped back heavily on the mattress. I’d been so worried about being an irresponsible adult and leaving a minor in a potentially dangerous situation that I’d forgotten how badly the dinner had ended.

  And now she couldn’t stop crying? Did she mean that literally, or was she just trying to say how sorry she was?

  I held the phone in front
of my face and squinted at the bright screen. I couldn't just leave this message for a day or two like I usually did, just in case she was actually upset.

  “It's okay,” I typed. “I'm glad you got home safely. Sleep well.” I read that a couple of times, and then sent it.

  I had been debating whether or not I wanted to get out of the hoodie and into my pyjamas when the handset vibrated again. I checked it.

  “pls dont be like this :( :( ur really awesome. like really. i mean that its just sometiems when i say things they dont come out right.....it was just weird seeing ur this serious businesswoman cos online ur really funny and kind of smooth so i thought for like a year that u were a really cool guy with maybe some really cool job liek a real artist or something. i had this idea of how u looked from the messages and then u posted that painting and it was like exactly what i thought...”

  My stomach knotted. That fucking painting. “I'm sorry I disappointed you, then,” I typed, and immediately regretted it even as I was clicking 'send'.

  I didn't have long to wait for a reply. “are u kidding me im the disappointment. i wanted to meet u for ages and then i screwed everything up :( :( u really are awesome though. And ur still pretty funny IRL. im sorry :( :( “

  I stared at those frowny faces for a good five minutes. If I hadn't been over the blood alcohol limit, I probably would have just said something nice and put my mobile on the bedside table and passed out. Unfortunately, I was over it, and all I could focus on was asking myself whether or not she'd been serious earlier. “Bree, are you actually crying?”

  It felt like eternity before she replied, and it was only one word.

  “yes :( “

  I closed my eyes for a moment.

  Fuck. Could I really not have swallowed all my personal dramas for another half an hour and ended that whole dinner amicably? Okay, so she was seriously intense, and showing up at my home and my work and then forcing me to pay for that extortionately expensive dinner was really fucking not okay... but, come on, she was 17. Did she actually deserve to be crying at midnight on someone's spare bed?