Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
OPHELIA
“You should come to the dance with me,” Cam says, and my eyes narrow in suspicion as he fidgets outside the changing room.
I’d retrieved both the ticket and the boutique card from the dusty classroom floor after Damien revealed he’d followed through on his promise. It doesn’t take away his betrayal, doesn’t fix things, but I’ve allowed myself a tiny sprig of hope that he might still find a way.
“Mm-hm.” The curtain rasps aside, its plastic hooks clicking against the railing. “And where did this idea originate? Was it perhaps at the behest of your employer?”
“The be-what now?”
I wish—not for the first time—that I hadn’t crushed my expensive glasses into plastic splinters. Although I stand by the impulse, I loved being able to magnify expressions.
“It’ll be fun,” Cam continues when I pull the curtain back in place. “Basil’s fit but he’s hardly a grand communicator, and everyone knows the swim team can’t dance.”
“And you can?”
“Of course.” His feet shuffle against the carpet, but I don’t bother checking. “Rugby players have natural rhythm.”
“You can tell your boss, I’ve listened to his counteroffer and no. I’m not attending the dance with his lackey. I only gave you that ticket so it wouldn’t go to waste.”
And as an apology.
It had been mean threatening him when he’s protected me from harm these past few weeks. Damien was right about that much.
“He didn’t tell me to ask you. I’m not sure he’ll appreciate the idea at all.” Cam suddenly sounds unsure. “Maybe keep it between us. We can turn up separately, then pretend they seated us together by fate.”
My reflection in the thin cubicle mirror cuts off at the knee. I step out, nervously walking up to the full-size mirror and turning side to side.
The outfit is far more daring than anything I’ve worn before. Its neckline plunges to my navel, held together by a single crystal clasp that bites into my sternum. The back is non-existent, just two thin straps crossing my shoulder blades before the material picks up again at the base of my spine.
The main fabric barely covers my panty line; a sheer overskirt billows down to my ankles, the translucent fabric hissing like static against my thighs. When I step forward, it parts, flashing my legs.
“Wow.” Cam has his phone out, lining up a shot.
“Don’t you dare.”
“It’s for you,” he says, already snapping the photos. “Then you can enlarge them on your tablet and see how good you look.”
My brow creases as I glance over. “This isn’t some kind of weird crush, is it? Because I’m off the market for the next hundred years.”
“No offence but you’re packing the wrong equipment.” His cheerful smile suddenly drops, and his eyes widen in alarm. “Uh, I’d appreciate if you kept that information to yourself.”
I rest my hand on his arm, squeezing in solidarity. “My lips are sealed. And it’s not like I’m friends with anyone else.”
If Cam even counts as a friend. I’m not sure.
Before now, the longest we’ve spoken with each other was when I caught him spying on me from the Scout’s shed. But I’ve enjoyed his company today, even if he does work for Damien.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and the teasing note has gone from his voice.
“I’m fine.”
“Mm. Is that the same fine as when you eat your lunch alone in the bike sheds, surrounded by dirt and used needles while the roof threatens to cave in above your head?”
I retreat into the changing room. “I like eating alone.”
“And used needles?”
I sit on the corner chair, not answering. Without any warning, I’m suddenly near tears.
Raising my voice, I say, “Why don’t you take a circuit around the mall while I finish up here?” and there must be more in my tone than I realise, because Cam immediately agrees.
When he’s gone, I stand, checking my reflection in the smaller mirror again, then pull my phone from my bag, a lump growing in my throat.
What I told Damien about the pills isn’t true, but it could be. Now Bryan isn’t managing my care, getting hold of enough medication is the easy part. All I need is a GP’s appointment, then a quick visit to the pharmacy.
Ten dollars for my dual prescription, another seventy for the doctor. One call and I’ll have that appointment. It could even be sorted today. I can do telehealth since it’s just a repeat.
But I put the phone away.
For the first time in years, the twin tracks have converged into one line, chugging towards an unknown future. I don’t know if those impulses, that ideation will come back, but unless or until they do, I need to place myself as far out of harm’s way as I can.
I strip off the extravagant dress and change back into my regular jeans and t-shirt, my flesh warming after its exposure to the cool boutique air-con. My hands are steadier now, gathering the dress, my purse, my phone.
The sales associate is waiting when I emerge, her smile professionally enthusiastic. “How did it fit?”
“I’ll take it.”
The smile becomes genuine. “Excellent choice. Would you like to see shoes? We have some stunning heels that would pair perfectly—”
“Just the dress.”
At the register, she bills the four-figure price tag to the Kade account, then wraps the dress in tissue paper, sliding it into a garment bag with the store’s logo embossed in gold.
I head outside, ready to find Cam among the warren of shops.