Color Me Pretty by C.M. Stunich

Author:C.M. Stunich [Stunich, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-06-22T04:00:00+00:00

I wear a sleeveless, black gown from Alice and Olivia by Stacey Bendet. It has a small cutout in the back and probably cost Emmett several hundred dollars. I feel guilty the second I put it on. And fat. And skinny. The sensation is so odd that I end up getting dizzy, bending over the sink and letting my head hang low, red hair cascading down around me. That's right – I got a wig. It's human hair, and oh so beautiful, red as rubies, shiny and healthy and perfect. I think it looks fake as hell, but Emmett promises me that it doesn't. He says nobody would ever know it wasn't real.

I look up at my reflection, and I'm happy to see that I'm not quite as ghastly this way. The hair falls gently over my cheeks hiding the excess fat … the skeletal thin … whatever. The makeup we bought isn't hurting either. My lips are no longer dry and chapped. Now, they're moist and pink, bright and youthful, the perfect complement to the blush I've used on the apples of my cheeks. The eyeliner makes my eyes pop and the shadow brings out the blue and helps hide the gray. Better. Much better. I almost feel like Old Claire now. In a way, that's a bit of a scary thought because Old Claire became In-between Claire. I have to remember that I am New Claire now. I am reborn.

I finish my makeup, slide on a pair of lace gloves, and step out of the bathroom and into a pair of black heels. These aren't designer, but Emmett tried. In fact, I'm glad they're not. I'm already so guilty about the dress that I can't even imagine what I'd do if I found out he'd splurged on a pair of Jimmy Choos.

“Wow,” Emmett says when I walk into the living room and find him sitting on the sofa. “Just wow.” Even though I feel ugly, even though I feel skinny and fat both, I blush. Emmett makes me forget that I'm an anorexic-bulimic-depressed monster. He makes me feel like just a girl, just a careless, beautiful girl.

I wait for him to stand up and come to me, to kiss my freshly rouged rips, to lean his forehead against mine.

He's been so lovey-dovey, I can hardly stand it. All through our sewing class, he was holding my hand, staring at me, kissing my cheek. Let's just say we got a lot of stares. At first I thought it might've been because I chose to wear a pair of my baggy sweats and one of Emmett's tees, letting my balding head shine fierce and my pale skin glow. But then Emmett mentioned that all the other folks in the class were women over the age of sixty, and maybe they were just staring because he was challenging gender roles by being there. I don't know if I believe him, but it made me feel better.

Still, I refused to leave the house again without a wig and some makeup.

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