Her laughter shocks me so much, I nearly jump out of my skin. “You going teetotal is the most hilarious joke you’ve ever made. It’s like Ted Bundy saying that he wants to give up severing heads.”
I narrow my eyes at her preposterous analogy. But, then again, judging by our little phone exchange, this is the sort of woman she is. Beautiful, but rather… dark humored.
“Some people can change,” I retort, finally noticing myself in the mirror. Wow, I look… stunning. Joyce has managed to pull off the sexiest smoky-eyed detail I have ever seen. My cheekbones look like they could snap a knife in two, and my green eyes—eyes that seem completely alien to me—are twinkling in the overhead lights.
“Never Ted Bundy.”
Okay, now she’s being cute with me. It’s strange, thinking about it. Lots of people naturally—and sometimes quite rightly—hate me, but this woman doesn’t seem like she holds any ounce of hatred inside of her. It makes me wonder how she feels about me.
“Look at that face,” she suddenly says, cupping the air around my cheeks, I’m guessing so she doesn’t smudge my makeup. “You’re going to knock their socks off, as always.”
“Why don’t you hate me?” I ask, intrigued by her.
She laughs out loud again. “Honey, I think we need to get you something bubbly to drink. You’re not making any sense.”
“No, seriously. I want to know. Everyone seems to either dislike me, put up with me, or just downright hate me.” Well, other than Eleanor, of course. “But I’m getting nothing from you.”
She suddenly grabs my arm, fake pouting as she fixes me with her stare. “Babes, I will always love you because you make me a shit ton of money.” She then taps my arm. “Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and go pick out some swimwear. They’re already hanging in your wardrobe. In the meantime,” she continues, holding up her phone and walking towards the door. “I’ll go see where Paris is.”
I watch her as she swaggers towards the door, barking into her phone, asking Paris if the accident has rendered her unable to use her legs. I wince at that, feeling sorry for poor Paris.
When the door slams, making me jump, I sigh before getting up to glance through the wardrobe. My eyes bug out of my head when they land on the collection—or lack thereof—of materials that are hanging up. I pick up a gold bikini set where the boob part would barely cover my nipples and the thong part is… well, a piece of string. I shudder, placing it back on the hanger, and try to find something that will at least cover the vital parts. No one-piece swimsuits, unfortunately, but there is at least a lime green Brazilian bikini thong set that will offer some sort of cover. I shut my eyes, groaning that there’s nothing better than this lime get up. The color is actually lovely, but I will still have a part of my butt cheeks showing.
Oh, man. Do I seriously do this sort of stuff every day?
Using a white—of course it is—and gold patterned dressing screen, I begin to undress so I can change into this outfit that I know I will feel completely out of sorts and uncomfortable in. When I’m changed and look into the free-standing mirror next to the blind, I can’t believe my eyes. I look spectacular. The top half shapes around my breasts like it was made to match, and the bottom half molds around my important bits and rests perfectly at my hips. All the swimsuits must have been designed to fit me perfectly, but it still doesn’t allay my anxiety that I don’t belong in this. Something is telling me that I would never be caught dead wearing this around my own house, let alone in public.
“Am I suddenly prudish?” I ask out loud, knowing no one will hear me. Still, the absurdity makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Natalie’s voice asks, making me jump. Where the hell did she come from?
When her shadow behind the blind rounds and she takes in what I’m wearing, a slight gasp leaves her lips. “How many times have I told you to wear that bikini and you’ve outright refused? What’s changed?”
I have? Why am I also doing everything oppositely to what people tell me I do? Maybe I’ve gone to sleep and been transported to an opposite world? As funny and preposterous as it sounds, it would explain why everything feels different. The only thing is, it won’t explain why I can’t remember a thing.
“I guess I felt like a change,” I answer, defiantly. “Maybe I just woke up one morning and thought, hey, I’d like to do everything opposite to what I normally do. Try it out and see if I like it.”
Natalie’s eyes widen, her lips pursed in surprise. I’m guessing she doesn’t do that often, because she wriggles her nose at her own disbelief.
When she steps forward like she wants to tell me a secret, I meet her, leaning over to see what she has to say, covering my boobs with my hands in the process. I suddenly feel like I’m on display.
“Are you taking that new drug on the market?” I sigh, because obviously she doesn’t take me seriously. She grabs my cheeks, staring me in the eyes. “You look… normal enough…”
“That’s because I am normal!” I blurt loudly. “Jeez, why is it so hard to believe that I’m not drinking and I haven’t taken any drugs?”
Natalie relaxes her hands to her sides, smirking. Yep. She still doesn’t believe me. Okay… whatever. Why do I even care?
“Have you gained weight?”
My eyes flit to her, noting her perusal of my body, inspecting every nook and cranny like I’m some sort of artwork to inspect and appraise.
“First drugs and now weight? What next? My boobs are sagging?”
Natalie huffs out a laugh, her eyes glancing down at them. “At the rate we’re paying your plastic surgeon, I sincerely hope not. Maybe we can get you a new dose of slimming pills.”
Mouth parting, I snap back, “I’m not putting anything in my body that could potentially harm me.”
Natalie’s head flies back, laughter erupting from her mouth. “I never thought you had a sense of humor. Thanks, I needed that.”