“Now who’s walkin’ away?”
He reaches out as I back up, but I recoil. “I am. I’m walking away from you, and I’m walking away from this toxic fucking love I don’t want to have for you.”
The blood drains from his face. “What did you just say?”
“I said goodbye, Jace.”
Back in my room, I allow my emotions to run free. When the tears fall, I don’t hold back. I cry myself empty. There’s a hollow space in my chest where my heart used to be. I wallow in the muck of my desolation, and when I’m done, I peel myself off the floor, dry my eyes, and start over.
It’s too late to buy something new, and this dress cost me too damn much to toss in the trash. Not just my money but my sanity as well.
I pluck it from the hanger and carry it to the bathroom like a baby in my arms. I submerge the delicate fabric in the soapy tub. It bubbles up, and I push it down, gently rubbing at the dirt until it’s clean. Unfortunately, the grass stains aren’t as easy. My gaze pings around the tiny room looking for something I could use to scrub them out. Jace’s toothbrush catches my eye. A wicked smile curls my lips.Fuck it.This is all his fault anyway.
I steal it from the cup and rinse it in the sink before using the soft bristles to work the green out of the champagne-pink fibers. Some of it releases, but the damn blemish is just as stubborn as he is. A faint olive hue clings to the tulle. I throw the toothbrush into the toilet and sit back on my haunches to devise a plan.
What would Freya Simonne do?
As I watch the water swirl down the drain, a new plan electrifies my mind like a lightning bolt. Upcycling designs is part of fashion. Taking something old and making it new has forever been a trick of the trade. Consider this part of my designer training. I can fix this.
I run to my room and start tearing through the boxes piled in my closet.It has to be here,I think to myself. A box of sewingnotions sits off to the side. I peer in the box and find what I’m looking for …
A small plastic container filled with dyes.
Red, blue, and yellow, I cradle them to my chest like they have the power to undo all the wrongs in my life. If I mixed up green, maybe I could conceal the grass stains. I get to work. My stomach clenches as I pour the concoction into the newly filled tub and watch my beloved pink turn to moss. When it’s done, I grin at my handiwork. It’s not a perfect match, but it’s enough to conceal the spots from far away.
I hang it from the shower rod to dry, then scurry back to the room to grab my sketchbook. Modern problems require modern solutions. The hem is ripped, so it will need to be shortened. An easy enough task, but the cigarette burn poses a problem. I can’t conceal it, hide it, or clean it. I need to remove it. But how?
I open to a blank page and start sketching different ideas. My pencil flies on its own accord. I’m merely the vessel, a puppet being pulled by the strings of my own creativity. When I’m finished, I beam down at my book with pride. I draw a circle around one of the three designs and sit back on the toilet seat, letting it come together behind my lids. A sense of calm washes over me, and I know exactly what to do.
Chapter twenty
Cindy’s eyes widen as I step into the living room. “What happened to the other dress?”
I smooth down the tulle on my skirt. “This is the other dress. I just made a few little tweaks.”
She circles around me, checking it out from all angles. “A few little tweaks? I’d never guess this was even the same dress.”
Moss while wet, the dress dried to a brilliant olive with a slight sheen of the previous gold shimmering through. The floor-length skirt now stops at my knees, but the biggest transformation is in the bodice. I gently removed the material around the waist, stitch by stitch, exposing the boning beneath, then replaced it with some leftover tulle I’d taken from the bottom. I left the spaghetti straps. However, with so much of the torn-off hem still remaining, I constructed puffy tulle sleevelets that band around the tops and bottoms of my biceps. The dainty ruffles attach to the dress just under the armpits.
My throat burns. I could go over the whole story, but what’s the point? She’ll yell at Jace, who’ll only take it out on me. I handled it, and it’s done. “Are you mad?”
She offers a warm smile. “You’re gonna knock that boy off his feet.”
A hard ball sits in the pit of my stomach. Cindy’s been so good to me. She was a mother when I needed one, a friend when I didn’t have any, and a support beam when I lost my footing. She is the guardian angel who watches over me, and she’s been so from the very beginning. I don’t know how to break the news that I’m moving out after prom.
I run my fingertips through the hair spilling over my shoulder. “Is Jace home?” I meant for it to sound blasé, but the question falls off my lips like a pathetic plea.
“Nah, he was gone before I even got up this mornin’. I dunno where that boy’s gone off to, but he better be back here before you’re gone, or I’m gonna whoop his ass into next Thursday.”
I can’t help but laugh. He probably went to get new tires.
She gestures toward me with her chin. “You keep tuggin’ your hair like that, you’re gonna tug them curls flatter than a pancake.”
“Shit.” My gaze moves to the clock on the wall. “Dusty’s stopping by after work to see me off. Will you let me know when he gets here?”
“Sure, yeah.”
I spin on my nude peep toe and scurry back into my room. Heat radiates off the iron still plugged into the wall. I twist a fallen tendril around the barrel and wait for a few seconds before letting it go. The fresh curl bounces to my shoulder.