Page 26 of Scream
Not white.
"Oh darling, that will look fantastic." My mother drawls.
Oh, apparently, I said all of that out loud.
"A corset." I rasp. "Ball gown that sparkles. But I want a second dress for the reception so I can dance with my best friend. Mermaid." While this isn't a fairytale, it is my wedding. "Beaded crystals." I'm spewing now, nothing but word vomiting.
Madam Auclair holds up a finger and begins nodding, "Oui, cher." She quickly goes to the racks of fabric and tulle, her assistant behind her, jotting down whatever she's saying on a sketch pad in quick succession. Except she isn't jotting anything down at all; she's drawing arough draft of my dress. "With your figure, this will be the dress of the century. Oh, I haven't been this excited in a very long time." She gives orders in French to her assistant, whose name I still haven't gotten, but soon I'm on a stepstool in front of the mirrors, getting my measurements taken while my mother watches in awe.
I hold my breath, thinking of anything, anything but the way this woman's tiny, nimble fingers touch me. Lifting my arms when I'm told, taking the smallest breaths when she wraps the measuring tape around my breasts.
When was the last time I got properly measured for a bra?
"And for the wedding night?" Madam Auclair waggles her eyebrows at me, and my mother smirks.
"Oh," I blush, I shake my head, "I don't think..." but then I see their brows furrowed in confusion. It’s then I remember I'm supposed to be a blushing bride. I'msupposedto be wanting to fuck my husband, have him tear my panties off with his teeth. To be ravaged in a manner so unholy it would make my ancestors recoil and clutch their pearls… or be very, very proud of me. I hold in my shudder. Not even at the thought of Maksim touching me - but being touched in general.
Could I ever withstand his touch? Could I train my mind to like it, like I’ve trained myself over these last two years?
I can listen to loud music now, as long as it’s in my earbuds and not reverberating all around me.
"Yes," I grin, "every color you have. Be daring. Have fun with this, Madam Auclair. Design to your heart's content."
Madam Auclair gasps in exhilaration. I've made her day. Maybe her whole month.
I won't ever wear whatever skimpy threads she designs.
But that doesn't matter.
It's just money.
The whole reason I'm in this mess.
I keep my mind on that, not on the hives that begin appearing along my skin every time Sophie, Auclair's assistant, touches me.
I wonder, for a very long while, if I would be happier had I been born without money. If I had to fight tooth and nail to be where I am professionally, to have to live with a roommate or several, instead of already owning a mansion at the age of eighteen. I wonder if... that night would have still happened to me...
When my eyes finally focus again, a half-started dress with a corset is being shoved at me to try on.
So, I do. I undress and Sophie, Auclair’s assistant, helps me tie it in the back, I come out and a tiara is placed atop my head with a veil attached. I remember the statistics.
The answer is: I would be miserable. And yes, that most likely would have still happened to me.
I smile wide, so wide my cheeks hurt, as jewels are placed on me. My hair is lifted, showcasing my neck, the women coo andawwandohhhh,but all I can see is what I've allowed myself to become - a shell of the woman I used to be, sheltered in diamonds and gold.
I hate the woman staring back at me.
I think of Raven at this moment for some reason. I swear I can feel her with me, like I've manifested her, a silent resilient presence looming in the back of the room, telling me to hold on just a little longer... and so my smile hurts, my stomach is churning, and the corset is too tight, and my hands tremble, and I smile through it all.
I bear the weight of the gold and the diamonds, and the finest fabrics money can buy because, who am I to complain about the life I've been given?
Look at what my best friend went through. Her trauma was more severe than mine, and not only did she stand tall at the end, but she took the life of one of the men who hurt her.
So I smile as I hear Madam Auclair apologize to my mother that the cost of fabric will be more due to my... curves.
A size fourteen.
Up from a size four in just two-and-a-half years.No easy feat, I assure you.
