Itug at the dress, looking down at it in disdain. It’s a poodle skirt type of dress, pure red. Black is my favorite color, but I didn’t want to show up to a date looking like I was attending a funeral. So, I decided to go with the next best color. I feel like it isn’t right, though. Nothing is right. Why the hell am I so nervous when the date isn’t even until tomorrow?
“That looks really good, Grace. You should do that one,” Marcy encourages from behind me. “He’ll like you in that.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together and peer at the reflection of Marcy behind me. She’s sitting on my bed, legs folded beneath her. “Do you even know this guy?”
She shrugs. “Not really. He went to high school with Landon but apparently didn’t start with him until senior year. You know, after we graduated.”
I grimace. I’d just barely graduated. How I had even managed that, I’m not sure. I pulled some crap out of my head and had wavered right above the line for eligibility to graduate. I regret not trying harder, though. If I could go back and redo it, I would in a heartbeat. Just so I can have those years back and truly apply myself. But that isn’t how it works, and I have to live the rest of my life knowing I can’t do shit about it. What I can do, though, is try with college. Even if I don’t know what I want to do with my life, at least I can try and figure it out from there.
I look at my reflection, but the girl that stares back isn’t the one wearing the red dress. Instead, it's painted black now, and my eyes are closed. My face is completely pale, and my hands are folded over my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the image to go away. When I open them again, it’s just me. In the red dress, staring back with fear in my eyes.
“Fine,” I breathe and turn back to Marcy, smoothing out the dress. “Where are my heels so I can see how they look with it?”
I think the last time I had been on a true date was with Devon. When I was eighteen, and he’d asked me to marry him. Five years. It doesn’t sound like too long, but it feels like an eternity.
Marcy looks around and shrugs. “Maybe in the closet by the front door?”
I groan. Of course, they’d be there. Why I’d gotten the bright idea of putting all my heels boxes in that closet, I didn’t know. At the time, it seemed to be a great idea to give me some space. I don’t have a very big closet in my room as it is, and since moving in, I’ve been trying to own more things. Heels included. I love heels. I can’t explain my obsession with them, but I’ve always adored heels. I just could never be able to have any of them when I was too focused on partying. I have the opportunity now, and I’m taking it.
I turn to my door and pull it open, departing from my room. Devon is gone, visiting his father for the evening. They like to have biweekly dinners together. I didn’t even realize today was their day. At least I don’t have an audience besides Marcy to parade around for. The last thing I need is for Devon and Owen to judge me. Well, okay, not judge me. I don’t think they’d judge my dress. It’s the date that I’m worried about. Devon had already been unable to hide his discomfort and that was around Kate. Without her, I can’t even imagine what his reaction would be.
Maybe it’s petty, but I want the guys to be jealous. I want my belief that they’re miserable in their relationships finally have solid proof. I know it’s wrong to use this unsuspecting guy for such a thing, but I have no intention of furthering the relationship. I just want to go on a date and be done and over it.
“So, Landon and I talked, and we thought it could help you if you and I go together. You know, arrive together or whatever, and the guys can arrive together.” Marcy tells me after I pull out a few boxes of heels from the closet by the front door.
Carrying them to couch, I dump them and pop open the lids. “That’s a good idea. Do you know his name?”
“I think Connor or something like that? I know it starts with a ‘C.’ Landon told me over the phone, not texts.”
I look up in time to see her shrug nonchalantly and narrow my eyes at her. She avoids my gaze.She’s lying.She knows who it is and is deliberately not telling me. Why though? Maybe to keep the air of mystery intact? I want to hope it’s just that. To keep me on my toes and wanting to go just to meet this mystery guy instead of learning about him and backing out. I have to give her credit; she knows me a little better than I do myself. I so would back out if I knew details about the guy. Because then I could poke and pick out things, excuses as to why I wouldn’t be able to go.Good one, Marcy.
I return my attention to my heels and pick up a pair of black pumps, holding them up to Marcy. She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. As I pick up another sleek pair of black ones, the front door opens, and I look up to watch both guys walk in. My eyes drop to Owen. His cheek is swollen, slightly purple, and blood dribbles down his chin from his lip. It doesn’t show yet, but the way he squints his left eye says it will be black tomorrow.
I drop the heels and step towards them, opening my mouth to question, but Devon holds up a hand, hoisting Owen on his arm and dragging him towards his room. Owen staggers, and it's then I realize he’s slightly swaying.Drunk.As they pass me, a whiff of beer hits my nostrils, stinging. My stomach coils, but I square my shoulders to keep myself upright and rooted to the spot.
When Owen’s bedroom door closes behind the two men, Marcy turns to me. “Should he – you know, be drinking? Around you?”
Irritation flares through me. I hate that question so much. It isn’t the first time somebody has asked me a variation of it. “That’s not how it works. People shouldn’t feel the need to stop their lives just because of me. I need to learn how to stay sober around everything, not everyone else stopping their lives just so I can stay sober. That’s unfair of me to ask.”
She nods in understanding and looks at Owen’s door again. “I thought Owen didn’t drink?”
I shrug, rubbing my forehead. “He doesn’t.”
There’s a moment of silence between the two of us now. Low voices tell me the two men are talking, but the door between us keeps whatever they’re saying a secret. I ache to just barge in and listen. I know better, though. I know I’m not allowed to do that. It isn’t my place. I can care as much as I want, but taking care of them is crossing a line I’m no longer even allowed to approach.
You let them go, Gracie. Not the other way around. You chose a pipe and needle over them.
I look down at the heels and pick up a pair of sleek red ones instead, dangling them in the air high enough for Marcy to see. She nods enthusiastically, but I’m only just barely paying attention. It’s enough to know she agrees, so I sit them to the side and box the rest back up to return to their little home in the front closet. Snatching the heels, I go back to my room and begin the changing process again, but this time back to my regular clothes.
All I can see in front of me is Devon holding up his hand, denying me the right to even show I care. The action itself says it all. Even if they trust me enough to care again one day, it will take an eternity to show them I mean well. Because even with nine months sober strapped in my belt, it isn’t enough. It won’t be enough until I don’t run off and steal their money. It won’t be enough until I pay the equivalent of the engagement ring I sold. It won’t be enough until I’m on my knees, groveling for forgiveness. Which, I thought I was already doing, but apparently, I’ve been wrong this entire time.
As I drop onto my bed dressed, I cover my face with my palms and let out a muffled scream. Marcy rubs my back.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into my hands and pull my head up to look up at her. “I know I’m being all self-centered and—”
“You aren’t. You’re trying to figure this out.” She gives me a small smile, adjusting herself to sit next to me. “Gracie, I’ve had an advantage over you. I smoked weed and drank and was able to just walk away. You couldn’t. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it wouldn’t let you. You lost a lot because those things wouldn’t let you go. You’re trying so hard now to stay away from them, though, and I’m really proud of you for that. You also have to learn how to be human again, not just an addict. It’s okay to be a little self-centered in the process, to figure out who you are. So that way, you can become the real Gracie.”
I nod and look down at my hands, picking at my cuticles.