Page 61 of Repluse

Great, now he’s cracked the shits. I glare at Sam, who shrugs.

“Right, we need to get a wriggle on. I have an appointment at three-thirty, remember?”

“Another change of plan,” Sam says. “I got you an appointment at a private hospital here in Melbourne. We’ll go straight there from here. It’s only twenty minutes away.”

I look between them. “Do you two not have real jobs? Is organising my life now all that you do?”

“We haven’t been sitting out here scrolling through TikToks, Mils. While you’ve been getting…”

“ThePretty Womantreatment?” I shouldn’t have said it, but I did because I’m destructive like that.

Frankie’s eye twitches. Sam’s jaw ticks.

“What the fuck?” Frankie hisses.

“Is that really what you think?” Sam asks quietly, and I feel awful.

Bella and Martine, the seamstress, disappear, leaving me standing in front of the boys, hip cocked, arms folded across my chest in a typically defensive Mila pose.

“Is that really what you think this is?” Sam asks.

“No, not really, but it has crossed my mind.”

“I just wanted to do something nice. You sounded so fucking miserable this morning,” Frankie tells me.

I feel awful. Absolutely fucking awful.

“Yeah, that self-regulating before you speak definitely needs some work, Mils,” Sam adds.

“I know, I’m aware.” I close my eyes. “Today has been amazing—perfect. I can’t thank you enough. Please forgive me. My thoughts just runaway with me, then spill out of my mouth. Is that self-sabotage? Is it because I think I don’t deserve any of this, so I try and ruin it? I don’t know, but I’m truly sorry for what I said.”

“What are we gonna do with you?” Frankie asks. Shaking his head, he steps forward and takes my hand. “Show us the back.”

With my hand in his, I twirl around and show them the backless feature of the dress. From my waist to my shoulders is bare, while just three rows of beads matching those in the skirt drape from one side to the other.

“All these new clothes and nowhere to go,” I state, wanting to move on from my earlier crass comment and lighten the mood. “I want to get dressed up and go dancing.”

“Mood swing much? You just did a complete one-eighty there, Mils,” Sam says with a headshake.

“Dude, get fucking used to it,” I reply.

“We’ve got an old school disco night at the club tonight. You can dance there if you want,” Frankie suggests.

Sam’s entire body jolts like he’s been struck, and his brows pull down into a frown.

“I’m not so sure that’s…” His eyes come to me. “You up for that? You wanna come to the club tonight?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I told you I want to go.”

His eyes slice to Frankie, then back to me. “Fine, we should probably show our faces anyway. But if that’s where we’re going tonight, we need to make another stop and get you something else to wear. None of this will do.”

After my appointmentat the fracture clinic, where I’m re-X-rayed, given some exercises to do, and told everything is healing well, we end up down a side street in Saint Kilda at a tiny little store selling all kinds of club wear: leather outfits, bondage stuff, whips, chains, and crotchless, nipple-less get ups.

I don’t want to flash my bits in public, but I also don’t want to look out of place, so I let the boys guide me. They choose a black leather dress. It has a high neck, but a slash across the chest exposes my cleavage and the top half of my breasts. The sleeves are cut racer style at both the front and back, and the bottom half is made up of two panels, leaving the sides of my legs, hips, and most of my arse cheeks completely exposed, so I opt for a black leather thong to wear underneath, just to feel a little less exposed. We pair this with over the knee, spike-heeled, black leather boots, and long gloves to hide the cast on my lower arm. Deciding I want to remain incognito—at least right now, I think I do—I choose an elaborate mask. It’s made up of black beads that rest on my head like a crown. A row of beads sit on my forehead between my eyes, and rows of black rhinestone tassels drop down like a veil, leaving just my eyes exposed. It’s stunning.

By the time we get back to Frankie’s, I’m exhausted, but also buzzing with nervous excitement. All of our purchases from the day have been delivered and are waiting in my bedroom when I walk in.

Frankie’s building is a lot more upmarket than mine. It’s mostly residential, with owner occupiers living here. He has a full-time concierge and security, whereas our building is mostly rented, short stay apartments, or owners who only visitoccasionally. There’s a key code to get in the front doors, a swipe card for the lifts, and a number to call if you have any problems. No concierge, no security.

---