We have a suite, not a simple changing room. The outer room’s décor feels more like a stuffy living room with a little stage and mirrors on one side.
“Some of your selections are already in the fitting room. I’ll alert you as soon as the rest arrive.” Crystal opens the door to another room that is bigger than my childhood bedroom. One wall is covered with a rack of clothing.
That emerald shirt jumps out at me. I’d love to wear it.
I can’t stop myself from putting it on with a simple knee-length skirt.
Crystal lightly knocks on the door. “How is everything going in there? Do you need any help?”
Everything is going terribly. The beautiful shirt fits me exactly as I expected… horribly. “Um.” I’m not used to lying, even though a pleasantry like a fine isn’t exactly considered a lie.
Crystal pokes her head in. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes widen as she gets a look at me. “Ohhh. I can see why you didn’t want that type of shirt. Nothing off the rack is going to fit your curves properly unless it’s a knit or stretch material. And even then, it’ll probably need a bit of tailoring to fit. Don’t worry, we have tailoring on site.”
Before I can blink, she’s got pins out and she’s adjusting the material.
It doesn’t take long before she steps back. “There. That looks much better.”
But in this she’s wrong. The shirt fits better, but the woman staring back at me is better suited for a sleazy movie than standing next to a man like Vex. All I am is one big chest.
The urge to wrap my arms around myself and curl into a ball is overwhelming.
No one will laugh at you.
You’re an adult now, not a child
Can’t she see that?
“Where is the sweater I asked for?” My hands shake with the need to pull this off.
“Over in the corner.” She points to a stack of folded sweaters that I hadn’t noticed with all the other clothing.
“Thank you.”
Kudos for her knowing when to step out. I scramble out of the shirt.
Should I text my therapist? I haven’t needed to since the first day I moved to Urbium.
It’s just a shirt. No one mocked me or grabbed me or made fun of me or threatened to hurt me. This isn’t the same.
But someone almost hurt me just a short time ago.
Vex saved you.
All of this anxiety is about a shirt. Nothing more, nothing less.
Go put one of those sweaters on and live your life.
My hand moves to the bulkiest sweater in the stack. I pull it over my head in one smooth motion, avoiding my still wet bun.
The sweater is big, baggy and shapeless.
Perfect. No one will look at me when I wear this.
Not wanting to risk trying on anything else, I step out into the outer room. Crystal and Vex are whispering to each other on the couch.
He stops talking almost immediately.
“Oh, good choice.” Crystal stands up. “I have just the belt to cinch in your waist.” She hops up. “Most people unbutton the buttons on one shoulder and fold the sweater down. I can show you—”