Scars Like Ours | Red View Romance #2

🐈 Thirty Seven

Annie checked her beaten-up watch for the thousandth time and pressed on the gas a little harder. She'd gone all the way out of town to visit the mall Gabby had taken her to last month when she needed a dress for the club. This time, she bought shoes that felt more like torture devices, her first ever set of lingerie, and a much too expensive perfume before stopping by Sephora to get her makeup done, and then had a trip to the hair salon for a blowout. Who knew that any of it would take so long? Now she knew why her sister had hogged the bathroom before school all those years.

She wasn't going to be home in time to make pumpkin soup for her dinner date with Cliff, which meant she'd need to improvise with something else. She wracked her brain for the contents of her fridge and the cabinets she used as a pantry--she was fairly certain she had spaghetti noodles and some pre-made sauce, and knew there was fresh salad leftover from yesterday that she'd planned to last her as lunch for the rest of the week.

Every time she caught a glimpse of herself in her car mirrors, there was a millisecond of panic before she recognized the face as her own. It was a surprise she could forget she was wearing makeup with how heavy it felt, not to mention the fact that she had to wear her glasses halfway down her nose to stop the thick, fake eyelashes from brushing against the lenses. When Cliff came over, she'd take them off altogether--it was her own fault she never kept contacts around. On the bright side, maybe it'd make her less nervous if she couldn't actually see him.

By the time she got home, there was hardly an hour left before Cliff was supposed to come over. She rushed inside, tossed the shopping bag she was carrying through the curtains into her bedroom, and threw her coat carelessly on the couch before heading to the kitchen. She got out one of the hand-me-down pots from her grandmother, filled it with water, and set it on the stove to boil before hurrying to her room.

"Okay," she breathed out, standing in front of the full-length mirror next to her armoire. Her chunky sweater and faded jeans stared back at her, clashing terribly with the full face of makeup. She'd go at it like an ice sculpture and chip away at everything that didn't match up with the image she wanted, before replacing it with the stuff that did. The first thing to go was her watch, the leather strap old, worn, and far too masculine. She kicked off her well-loved sneakers and tucked them neatly under the dresser, out of sight.

Stripping down, she threw her clothes and plain, boring underwear in the hamper and took a moment to analyze herself. Despite her all but reconstructed face and flouncy hair, the lanky, angular body looked the same as it always did. The curve of her waist was slight, and her hips bowed inward, slim and bony where she wished they were full. Her femaleness was obvious, yet so much less enticing than she would have hoped for.

When she slipped into the lacey, matching set, a dainty and innocent pale pink, some of the insecurity fell away. It was nice, she thought. Maybe a bit understated for the makeup she had on, but more her speed.

Remembering the spaghetti, she quickly shimmied into the dress her sister gave her. She'd tried it on last night, but it looked better like this, with everything else done up to match. The neckline was low, but in her case revealed nothing but a lack of cleavage. Still, she supposed the silky fabric fell nicely enough on her, and hoped that her collarbones were enticing enough to make up for what was lacking in other areas.

An odd sense of otherness washed over her as she padded barefoot to the kitchen, deciding that like the removal of her glasses, the heels could wait until the last second. It was as if she was a stranger in her own apartment, wearing someone else's clothes and a mask of disguise.

"Good," she told herself, reaching into the cabinet for the box of noodles and trying to shake off the anxiety. "Get used to it."

She was going to have to. This wasn't a one night thing; this was the new and improved Annie. The one who put in effort, who knew the difference between bronzer and contour and what shoes went with which outfit--or at least, was learning to. This was the Annie who would deserve a man like Cliff. She would be a woman he could be proud of.