Page 92 of Brazen Mistakes

“What you have is trauma, Clara.”

I don’t say anything to that. Of course I have trauma. It doesn’t mean I have to bring it up all the time, looking for sympathy and pats on the head. I can make it through this.

I will.

Just like I’ve made it through all the shit that’s come before. All the moments that seemed uncomfortable as they happened, but with hindsight were obviously abuse.

For a smart girl, I can be kind of stupid.

But he doesn’t need to hear about it. None of them do. They’d go all weird and protective, or comforting and soft, when I don’t want either of those things.

I just want all that behind me. So that’s where it’s going to stay.

If only it didn’t keep popping up in the middle of the night.

Or apparently in the middle of a self-defense lesson.

My thoughts spiraling, I press my face against his hand, taking comfort where it’s offered. “I guess learning not to faint should be added to the syllabus.”

He pulls me into his arms, settling me in his lap, and just being surrounded by him makes everything a little bit easier. “I mean, passing out isn’t the best move in self-defense.” I can feel the faint twist of a smile against my head. “But more seriously, Clara, I don’t know what all is going on up there.” He taps my forehead. “But I know that keeping it to yourself is making it worse.”

Is it though? It’s better than turning into a weak, weepy mess every time something doesn’t go my way. Nothing has been going my way for a while now. “I probably just didn’t eat enough this morning. Once I have more sustenance, I’m sure I won’t go floppy without warning.”

RJ’s look aches. “You need to eat more. And sleep more. But neither of those have been going well either.”

“I’m working on it.”

He shakes his head, the sadness and sympathy I was hoping to avoid blanketing his face. “Right. Either way, we’re done for the day.”

“But we just got to the fun part.”

“Yes, and you blacked out. We can try again later.”

I have no choice but to nod, as the tingling in my fingers and toes tells me I’m not ready to get back to it, as much as I wish I could.

This shit is getting frustrating.

RJ burrows his nose into my neck, and all I feel is shame. So many people have had much worse things happen to them, but here I am, passing out because one of my boyfriendsloomedwhile teaching me self-defense. It’s absurd.

I’m lucky. I know I am.

Sure, I had a shitty boyfriend and was assaulted in a dark alley by a stranger. But really, it could have been so much worse.

If only I could get my stupid body to agree with me, I’d be good to go.

I’m surprised when Summer meets us at the boutique for our alteration appointment. I’m pressed against Walker’s chest, his grip unusually strong after this morning, when she strolls up next to us, a dress draped over her arm and a large purse slung over her shoulder.

Unlike the other day, today she’s wearing a puffy jacket and snow boots, giving off the vibes of the dog walker sheclaims to be. “Hey,” she says, hooking her dress on a nearby rail, pulling off thick mittens.

“Hi,” I say, still not sure what to make of this strange woman. Nothing about her adds up.

The attendant opens the door to our alteration room, which is similar to the private dressing room we had, but smaller, with a white couch against the back wall and one changing stall to the side. The room does, however, have the same block to stand on in front of a series of mirrors.

Summer moves her dress to the changing room, then turns with a huff. “You should do the dress first. I’ll do mine second, then your pants can go last.”

I brought both new pairs of shoes, but I haven’t seen the dress or the pants since we dropped them off on our way to the consignment shop. Luckily, the attendant hooks my dress and pants in the changing stall, so I don’t have to track them down. “Alright,” I say, not knowing what else to do or say.

Once I’m wearing my new dancing heels and lifting the excess fabric high as I step onto the block, a different woman comes in, introducing herself as the seamstress, and she begins tucking and pinning while I stand awkwardly in front of the mirrors. Walker does a circle, his eyes analytical, and I can’t help but imagine how he would have reacted to the other dress.

---