Page 142 of The Loathing

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t wear it… I said it wasn’t stunning.” I shake my head from side to side and huff.

“Well, I disagree,” the snobby bitch snaps her head back around and pulls the bag off the bottom of the dress.

“You wear it then,” sarcasm coats my tone.

“Amora,” my mother nudges me in the ribs.

“I have no idea why Mr Knight is marrying such….”

“Such a what?” I step towards her.

Her beady eyes drag over me once more before she shoos me away.

“I am not wasting anymore of my breath on you, step into the changing room and we will get you into this dress,” she unhooks the dress from the rail and pulls back the curtain to open the dressing room. I inhale deeply, stepping towards her and pulling the dress from her grip and beam at her.

“I am more than capable of dressing myself, thank you.”

Entering the dressing room, I pull the curtain with force to shut it.

“Silly cow,” I mutter as I unzip the back of my sundress.

“I heard that.”

“That was the intention.”

I hear my mother apologise profoundly.

“Mum! Stop apologizing for me, if I wanted to say sorry I would.”

“She has her father’s attitude,” my mother continues completely ignoring me.

“Nothing wrong with that,” I hear the sound of my father’s voice float through the room and my heart thumps in my chest.

“Great,” I shout out as my dress pools on the floor of the dressing room. Arabella stays quiet, she knows what my father is like, so she knows what’s best and that’s not getting involved.

“Your daughter has an attitude problem.”

“Like my earlier statement, nothing wrong with that,” I hear him voice back to my mother.

“There is when she is trapping off about her wedding dress.”

“Has he dressed her in a fucking shit dress?” my father’s voice gets louder.

“Sir, excuse me,” snobby bitch calls out but he doesn’t listen. He never fucking listens.

The curtain pulls back and roll my eyes as I try to cover myself.

“Dad!”

“Titty! Cover your fucking eyes. Show me the fucking dress.” His voice claps round the room like thunder.

“Well daddy if you let me get it on, then you can see it in all its glory,” and I know he doesn’t miss the condescending tone that drips off my tongue.

He pushes his hand through his hair, stepping back and tugging the curtain back over.

“I swear to fucking god if he is going to make my baby look like a meringue, I am going to murder him.”

“Xavier, calm down,” my mother says softly to my father.

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