Page 33 of Tricked By Jack
“There you are!” Shel exclaims, somehow managing to sound both relieved and like I’ve done something wrong. “I got worried when you weren’t waiting for me here.”
“I… umm…” For some reason, I can’t make the words come out to explain what happened. They’re stuck in my throat. “Where the hell did you disappear to?” I ask, deflecting.
Letting go of me, Shel pulls me over to a section of the tent complete with a vanity table and mirror. She gestures for me to take a seat. When I don’t immediately do as she wants, she rolls her eyes and exhales audibly while pushing me into the waiting chair.
“We don’t have much time,” she mutters. Picking up a brush, she starts working on my hair. A series of tugs follows, each one more pronounced than the last. “I had to get ready first so I could come back and help you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before leaving?” I demand. “Talk to me, Shelby.”
Her fingers still, and she speaks in a calm tone that’s so at odds with what’s happening. “You know I can’t tell you everything, Eve.” I nod as she sets the brush down. “You’re just going to have to trust me. Remember what I said, I’m your friend. That part’s real.”
“So what isn’t?” I ask, picking up on what she isn’t saying. Squinting, I feel as though I’m seeing her for the first time.
Instead of the outfit she wore when I last saw her, she’s wearing a long, tight dress. The black fabric shimmers under the twinkle lights. Her makeup is bold and dramatic. She looks like she’s been exhumed and glamorized—some undead pageant queen pressed into service.
Her hair is meticulously twisted into a sleek, polished bun, not a single strand out of place. But what really gets me is her expression. It’s eerily calm and detached, resembling the blank, indifferent face of a department store mannequin.
“Nothing here is real,” she murmurs as she begins doing my makeup. “It’s all a big show, one you wanted to be part of.” The last part comes out pointedly, as though she’s reminding me that I’m here of my own volition. “A trick for all the senses.”
“Maybe,” I allow, licking my lips. “But you’re still keeping secrets.”
“It’s all part of the business we call show,” she deadpans as she moves on to my eyes, and I try to sit as still as humanly possible while she expertly applies eyeliner and eyeshadow.
“So, you met your Groom?” I ask, needing something to focus on.
“Mhmm,” she agrees. “I already knew who it was.”
“Do you know who mine is?”
When she doesn’t say anything, I know I have my answer. Shel knows, and she’s… she’s kept it from me for days. This is one of those moments where I wish I could have anahamoment. A clarity of sorts. But there’s nothing clear about any of this.
“Fine,” I relent, my tone scathing. “Keep your secrets, Shel. But if your secrets get me killed, I’ll come back to haunt you.”
She snorts. “So dramatic.” But I can hear the relief in her voice, just as I know she could hear the levity in mine.
As I give in and close my eyes so Shel can finish doing my hair and makeup, I try to make sense of it all. But if I’m honest, none of this makes any sense.
I’m not sure it matters, though. I’m here. And, more importantly, I wanted to be here. Since I’ve already jumped down the rabbit hole, I might as well enjoy the ride and see where the night takes me.
It feels like hours have passed when Shel finally announces, “It’s time for the dress.”
When I stand and try to look in the mirror, she blocks it with her body. “Come on,” I whine. “I want to see.”
“Not yet,” she sing-songs, shaking her head. “I want you to take it all in when I’m completely done.”
Huffing, I fold my arms across my chest and make a show of looking at the ceiling. “Fine,” I sigh. “Just let me know when I’m allowed to, you know, actually have an opinion or anything.”
“Time to get naked,” she announces with a giggle. “And no looking when I come back with your dress.”
I flip her off, but do as she says.
This isn’t the first time I’m being dressed by Shel. I don’t know if she has a doll fetish or just wishes she worked in fashion. But she loves dressing me, and more than half of her outfits are not made to wear with underwear. So, really, this is nothing new.
While I try to ignore the excitement building inside me, Shel dresses me. She pulls, tugs, even makes my breath leave my lungs when she tightens the bodice to the point where breathing no longer feels like an option.
“Shel,” I wheeze.
“Almost there.” Another tug, and then she lets go. “Okay, you’re done. Have a look.” I let her take my hand and lead me back to the vanity. As I take in my appearance, I can’t help but marvel at it. I look… amazing. Like a bride built for damnation.
