Page 116 of Rebel

“No, they are still in bed,” I reply.

“No worries, I’m here for you anyway, so it’s better if there are no interruptions. Go wash, and I’ll be ready when you are.” Her smile is sugary sweet.

“Oh, I showered,” I tell her, blinking in confusion.

Her eyes run over my body once more before she smiles brighter. “Of course, then whenever you are ready.”

I blink as she saunters into the living room. That definitely felt like a slight, but who can tell anymore? Downing my coffee, I drop the mug in the kitchen and head to the living room, shutting the door behind me and sitting as I wait.

She’s hanging all the bags up, and the suitcase is open on the floor, revealing shoes, hair accessories, pins, measuring tapes, and sewing kits. She moves around, completely ignoring me, which suits me just fine.

I wait patiently until she turns with a nod. “Why aren’t you undressed?” She frowns.

“Um, because I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes and you didn’t tell me to?” I counter, frowning at the attitude lacing her tone. Maybe that’s just how she speaks. “I’ll do it now.”

I quickly strip down to my bra and panties. They aren’t fancy, but I don’t think they deserve the look of derision she gives me when she sees them. For a moment, I feel self-conscious, wanting to wrap my arms around myself, before I force myself to tilt my chin up and meet her eyes.

I don’t spit the verbal fight I want to, and instead, I wait for her to sigh and continue. “Okay, well, come here then. Let’s try on the first outfit. We don’t have all day.”

Biting my tongue until I taste blood, I head over.

She turns, unzips a bag, and pulls out the first dress, handing it to me. “Quickly,” she snaps, and it takes everything I have in me not to tell her to go fuck herself, especially before my second cup of coffee, but I take the dress and slip it on. She watches me struggle as I shimmy it down my body, and her lips curl.

Once it’s settled, she walks around me, tapping her chin like some sort of serial killer eyeing up their next victim. “I don’t know if it’s too tight or if you put on weight,” she remarks as she stops before me.

I blink. “I don’t think so.”

“No?” She arches a brow. “Have you been eating healthy?”

“Is that any of your business?” I snap.

“It is when you don’t fit in your clothes,” she hisses.

I look down, not seeing what she does. “It looks the exact same,” I mutter.

“To your untrained eye,” she scoffs. “Fine, next.” She whirls around, and I pull the dress up. I debate throwing it at her, but I resist and carefully lay it on the sofa while I wait.

She grabs the next one, which I put on, and eyes me again. “I don’t like how it shows that scar.”

“The scar stays,” I reply, leaving no room for argument.

“Fine, but you look unrefined and cheap, like you just climbed out of a trailer park, not to mention it showcases your stretch marks,” she retorts so brazenly, I gape at her.

“What is your fucking problem?” I demand. “You are here to dress me, and yet you are insulting my weight, my personal hygiene, and now my body, which by the way, stretch marks are fucking normal.”

“Not for a rock star.” She eyes me with disdain. “Which you are clearly not.”

“Listen here.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “Dress me silently, get what you need, and go, or you can get the fuck out now with a black eye. Take your pick and make the right decision because I do not need a snotty, judgmental bitch trying to ruin my day.”

“You can’t touch me. I’m employed by the label, and you are on thin ice, jail bird,” she sneers, looking me over. “I do not know what they see in you. Now, you might think you’re a big deal since you’re here and are making the most of it.” She presses her hand into a finger mark on my thigh with a knowing grin. “But make no mistake, you are replaceable. You are nothing. Now, next outfit.”

Gritting my teeth because I hate that she is right, I let her dress me. If she tells the label I was trouble, then they will get rid of me. I’m on thin ice after being arrested. They don’t need more trouble, and this woman could easily paint me as a diva, even if she’s being a bitch. They might need me for this tour, but I have no doubt that if I cause too much trouble, I will be gone faster than I can say I’m sorry.

I bite my tongue the entire time as she paints my skin with her derision and negative comments. She has something to say about everything, from my weight to my sex life. I take it all as she tries to tear me down. I swallow it, and when she packs up, she glances back at me.

“See you next time, Beck,” she sneers, and then she’s gone.

I’m left in my underwear, since she wouldn’t even let me dress, and I wrap my arms around myself, feeling dirty and weak. Tears fill my eyes as I wonder if this is what my sister went through.

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