Color Me Pretty

by C. M. Stunich

  “What.” It's not even really a question, more like a statement. My sister shifts uncomfortably and opens her mouth, closes it. She doesn't even know what to say. Wow. That's a first. I tell her this. “Cat got your tongue? The Amazing M? I thought you always got straight to the point, guess I was wrong.” I start to shut the door, but she puts out her hand and blocks me. I might be angry, but I'm not barbaric. Slamming Marlena's hand in the door might me make feel better temporarily, but in the long run, it would just make me sick.

  I reopen the door, but I don't let her in. I stand there with the purple wood separating us, and I glare, eyes narrowed, lips pursed tight. This doesn't phase Marlena. She just takes a deep breath and forges on, once again trapped in her idealistic view of the world. I am her project and she refuses to fail. I almost want to, just to spite her. But then I think of Emmett. A smile nearly hits my lips, but I force it back.

  “I think you're making a mistake,” she tells me, not unexpectedly. I start to close the door again, but she grabs the frame and practically shoves her way into the house. I step back, startled and end up with my thighs pressed against the couch and my sister looming in the front entrance, eyes flickering over to the sewing machine, to the open bedroom drawer, and then down to the boxers I'm wearing. Her face gets weird.

  “Say it,” I growl and she snaps her gaze to mine. “Say it and prepare to never fucking see me again. Belittle Emmett, be disgusted with him for sleeping with me. I know you want to.” I raise myself up, puff out my chest a bit. This is beyond normal sibling rivalry; this has now crossed that line and dropped straight over the edge.

  “Claire,” she begins, but since she's being patronizing again, I cut her off.

  “Marlena.” The way I say her name gets her attention; I can tell. “Listen to me and listen good, relay this back to mom and dad. I,” I point at my chest. “I make my own decisions. All of them. Even whether I live or die.” My sister starts to argue. If she didn't, I'd think she was possessed. I let it go, but I don't listen to her. Instead, I speak over her, and I'm proud to hear the strength in my voice. I look weak, feel weak, but maybe I'm not so weak? “And I choose to be with Emmett, here. I don't want a feeding tube in my nose or an orderly over my shoulder. I don't want to go back to Crescent Springs, and I sure as fuck am not going to Bayview Hills. Understand that, okay? I didn't try to kill myself.” I step forward, but Marlena doesn't step back. Getting her out of here is going to be a nightmare. I should've never answered the fucking door.

  “Then how on earth did the glass get to your wrists, Claire? Did it float there?”

  “I put it there to feel, Marlena!” I scream. I get up in her face, but she doesn't budge. “I put it there because you hurt me so bad, I couldn't even feel the pain. Do you understand that?” I scoff at her and step back, shaking my head, turning away and looking up at the ceiling. “Of course you don't. Nobody understand me.” I pause. “Except maybe Emmett.” This last part comes out in a whisper, but Marlena hears it. She's not one to miss any information.

  “First night home from the hospital and he has sex with you? Don't you think that's weird, Claire? Normal people do not sleep with sick people, Claire, and you're sick. You need medical help.” I close my eyes because the anger inside of me is so bright it's blinding.

  “You're so selfish,” I tell her, looking over my shoulder, watching her watching me. Her eyes keep drifting to my calves and getting stuck there. That bothers me more than it should. “Emmett sees the person I am inside. You see a project, something that needs to be fixed.”

  “I love you, Claire,” she tells me as I spin around to face her.

  “Liar.” I lock my eyes on her face and try to let my emotions shine through. Maybe she does, maybe, but she doesn't act like it. If you love something, you let it go. You do not trap it; you do not pass judgment on it; you do not hurt it the way she's hurting me. I nibble the inside of my cheek, and I try to figure out if there's a way to win this argument. There isn't. Not really. Emmett said we'd all have to move past this, but how? Marlena won't let us. “Hire Emmett back.” My sister laughs at this and puts her hands on her wide hips. For one, infinitesimally small second, I'm envious of them. Marlena actually looks like a woman. I cross my arms over my chest to hide the fact that the shirt I'm wearing hangs straight from my neck to my thighs.

  “Claire, Emmett is half the problem.”

  My eyes challenge hers – gray looking into blue.

  “He's half the solution. When he came around, I had already dug my own grave. It was just a matter of time until I fell into it.”

  “He's a pervert.”

  “You're a bitch.”

  Silence descends on the little, yellow house with the purple door and the gray roof.

  Outside the open door, the rain continues to fall. It might be summer, but there's always a storm brewing somewhere, and I guess right now it's here, hanging over us, weighing us down. I stand up as straight as I can.

  “When are you coming home?” Marlena asks like she didn't just insult the man I'm falling in love with, like she didn't just blow off everything I told her.

  “Maybe never,” I respond, keeping my distance, standing my ground. Thank God, I'm eighteen. If I were underage by even a day, I'd be screwed. She'd drag me back home kicking and screaming. “Not until you all can accept Emmett, until you can accept me.”

  “We love you, Claire.”

  “Love and acceptance are not the same things, Marlena Morgan Simone.” I turn around and walk down the hallway, and she follows. When I hit my bedroom door, I go inside and I slam it in her face, locking it behind me. With my eyes shut tight, I slide down the wall until I'm seated in the spot where my desk used to stand.

  “Claire.” Marlena taps at the door gently at first and then a little frantic. “If you don't open up, I'm going to call the police. I won't let you hurt yourself again.” I open my eyes and look around the room. As Emmett said, the whole place is empty and swept clean, floor mopped, shades drawn, closet open and bare. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl to the edge of the bathroom. The door is open, so I have a clear shot of the inside, the gleaming white tile, the toilet, the sink. I sit on my knees and stare while Marlena starts to shout at me. But I won't be bullied, and I won't be bossed around. Fuck, let her call the police. I don't give a shit.

  I look at the floor there and I try to imagine the blood, the numbness. I glance over my shoulder and try to remember the pain. It isn't hard, but it also doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Good. My rebirth has changed me. All I need do is follow this path, let myself grow in body and spirit. Things will get better. They will.

  I stand up and head back to the bedroom door, opening it at the same moment Marlena begins to dial on her cell phone. I look at her, and I have nothing else to say. Until she decides we can move on and focus on the next phase of my journey instead of the previous one, things will remain as they are. I head to the front door and stand with my hand on the knob.

  “Get out.”

  Marlena doesn't budge.

  “I'm not done talking about this, Claire.” I shrug my shoulders.

  “Well, I am. When you're ready to take the next step, come find me. Tell that to Mom and Big Bob, okay?”

  “This is ridiculous,” she says, eyes wide, hands up, palms facing the ceiling. She can't believe that things are not going her way. Too bad. Maybe there's a lesson in all of this that Marlena is supposed to learn, too. She can't control the whole world. She can try to make things better, but she can't bully people. I can't wait for her to figure that out. Once she does, I think we could have a relationship again. Maybe.

  “Please, leave.” This voice is not mine; it's Emmett's.

  He steps in the door dressed in a red long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark jeans. No beanie this time. Looks like Emmett's hair is actually behaving today, laying nice and thick across his skull, dripping over his forehead but not obscuring his eyes. I smile. Marlena frowns.

  “Why?
So you can take Claire back to death's door?”

  “So we can get ready and go to class.” Emmett reaches out and takes my hand, sliding a brochure through my fingers. I look and see that it's the schedule for the community center. A sewing class is circled in red. My smile turns into a grin. Deep down, I feel a small bite of guilt for the way I talked to him before, when he asked me to design something for the fashion show he's no longer in charge of. I have to brush it back though, or I won't be able to deal with my sister.

  “You can't stay here forever, Claire. This little fantasy bubble of yours will pop at some point, and you'll come crying home. You always do.” She storms off, pushing past Emmett and heading out the door. I slam it behind her. What Marlena doesn't get is that this has never happened to me before. How can I have come crying home when I never really left?

  I turn to Emmett and give him a sympathetic look which he returns.

  “Was she here long?” he asks, and I shake my head. It felt like hours, but it was probably minutes. And then, a dreaded question, but one that I don't think he means. “Have you eaten?” He cringes right after he says it, like he's just realized how bad that sounds. I just shake my head, holding the brochure out, so I can stare at it.

  “Not yet,” I say and my voice comes out as a whisper. Emmett turns to me and takes my bandaged wrist between his fingers, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. He smiles gently.

  “That's okay,” he says, and then, “Are you hungry?” I look away, and I feel ashamed when I next speak.

  “Not really.” My argument with Marlena didn't exactly whet my appetite. Even the idea of putting food in my mouth feels like a win for her side. I promise myself that I'll eat tonight when we go out with Emmett's dad.

  Emmett doesn't make a big deal about this. He just nods and pulls me into his arms for a kiss.

  “Did you get the job?” I ask him, and he just smiles. I slap a palm against his chest. “You did, didn't you?! Aren't you going to tell me where?” Emmett's smile blossoms into a grin.

  “You'll never believe this,” he says to me. “But I just got hired at the Super Smoothie.”

  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. Emmett made that happen for me, even though he shouldn't, even though he can't afford it. I want to kiss his face off.

  And now, with this dinner looming before us, he's still sweet as fucking pie. I'd be angry … trepidatious … scared. But Emmett isn't showing any sign that he's dreading this night. I touch the sleeves of his white button up and wish his arms were bare, so I could see those tiny scars and know that I wasn't alone. I figure it'll have to wait till tonight when I strip Emmett down and make love to him again. Despite what Marlena says, I'm not exactly a helpless little victim in all of this. I want to fuck Emmett, and I want to do it often.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him, just to make sure. If he's holding it inside, I want him to let it out. I watch as he wets his lips and thinks carefully about the answer to that question.

  “I am, and I'm not,” he says, folding me against him, treasuring me even though I still don't quite understand why. I assume that when I finally learn to love myself, I'll get it. “I'm glad that my dad's actually making an effort to change, but I'm sort of pissed that it's happening now. Does that make sense?”

  “Don't worry about me.”

  “I knew that after our first kiss in the tree house, that I would always worry about you. So don't worry about me worrying about you.” Emmett grins and grabs me on either side of my head, kissing my wig as if it really is my hair. I appreciate that.

  “This is about you tonight,” I warn him, knowing all the while that he's going to be thinking about me anyway, if I'm eating, what I'm eating, how his dad is treating me. He hasn't said it aloud, but I can tell that he's worried. He says his father hurt women, but not how. Did he beat them? Rape them? And if so, once Emmett confronts him, will they have a relationship? I have no idea. I decide that I'm going to go into this without judgment, that I'll let my impression of the man and his fiancée be the deciding factor for me.

  “Thank you,” he tells me, stepping back and examining me. I can tell he's finally just noticed that I'm not only pretty on the inside, but today, that I actually look presentable on the outside. Must be nice for him. I vow to make myself healthier, stronger, better. I want Emmett to love both sides of me (though I suspect he already does).

  “For what?” I ask as he drapes a shawl over my shoulders, one that I've never seen before. It's made of black wool, and I can tell without examining it that it was expensive. I finger the soft fabric, but say nothing. Emmett already knows how I feel about all of this. I told him today, but he just smiled through it. I don't think there's much I can do to change his mind, and to tell you the truth, I don't really want to. I'm used to having things taken care of for me – my parents have been doing it my entire life. And yes, I need to stand up on my own two feet and move forward, but I don't know if I can handle recovery and newfound independence at the same time.

  “For going with me, even though you probably don't want to.” Emmett pauses as he grabs his jacket from the back of the couch. God. He's so infuriating. The man is freaking gorgeous, and he has no idea, not a clue. He could be a male model in a second. The lines of his face are perfect – manly but not barbaric. His eyes are soft but sultry, and his body is rock hard. He smells good and he isn't covered in fur. Yeah, he's got a bit of hair on his chest, a little trail on his belly, but he isn't related to Cousin Itt, if you catch my drift. I stare at him as he glances over his shoulder at me, all inno
cent like.

  “You're an ass,” I tell him, purposely ignoring his previous comment. No, I don't want to go to a restaurant. If I had to think up my own levels of hell, going to a restaurant would definitely be listed as one of them. All of those items listed but no calorie counts … complex dishes without any idea what ingredients are in them … people staring, watching you eat, judging you. I shiver.

  Emmett looks perplexed.

  “Am I?” he says, seriously asking a question. It's my turn to take his face between my hands and kiss him hard. This ends the conversation. “I hope the tree house is alright,” he says as we walk out the front door and pause on the porch, eyes fixated on the rain that falls in a seemingly endless stream from the sky. Eventually, it will clear and the sun will shine. Eventually. I keep this bit of information tucked away for later. Things are going well now, but they could change. Something bad could happen tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. That's why Emmett's way of life makes so much sense to me. He exists happily in the here and now.

  I glance over at him and wonder if this meeting with his father will awaken anything dormant inside of him, if that pain will rear up and take over. God, I hope not. If this dinner is anything, I hope it's a lesson for me on how to handle things.

  “You're brave,” I tell him, but he just laughs.

  “I don't know about that. I think maybe that I'm just an environmentalist who drives a sports car.” I slap him on the arm, but when I go to pull my fingers away, they curl around his bicep and I end up with my head pressed into Emmett's shoulder.

  My mood is up and down which is understandable but frustrating. What are you supposed to do when you want to be happy, but all you can be is sad? My stomach gurgles and I cross my arm over it to silence the noise. If Emmett hears it over the soft simmer of the rain, he doesn't let on. I wonder what would happen if I ate more. Would my mood remain more stable? I might have to try, just to find out.