Chapter 6
Chapter Six
F or hours, I surrendered my body to stranger's hands, each touch a small invasion I forced myself to endure. I flinched at first contact, muscles coiling beneath my skin before I commanded them to relax. The technician's eyes flicked to mine in the mirror, professional smile never wavering. The waxing strips ripped away more than just hair—they peeled back layers of carefully maintained distance, leaving me raw and exposed. My fingers gripped the armrests until my knuckles bleached white. Sitting still was its own kind of battle, my toes curling with each new application of warm wax. My muscles screamed for escape, for the familiar rhythm of running feet and burning lungs that usually kept the memories at bay. But here, pinned under professional smiles and beauty implements, there was nowhere to run.
Each minute stretched like hot wax, and I wondered if this was what normal felt like—this voluntary submission to pain in the name of beauty, this trust in hands that weren't trying to hurt you. The strangest part wasn't the pain—it was realizing that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be transformed.
When it came time for me to see myself, I was scared. I was almost sure I had no eyebrows or hair left, but I was shocked when I faced the mirror. I had well-defined eyebrows and plenty of hair, full and shiny. The make-up she applied appeared natural.
Hailey stepped back from her work, head tilted critically before a satisfied smile spread across her face. She seemed incredibly proud of herself, sweeping products into a bag with the precision of someone packing parachutes. Her nimble fingers danced across the counter, scooping up bottles and tubes. As she placed each item inside, she leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, explaining its purpose with the gravity of someone sharing state secrets.
"This," she declared, holding up a small tube between her thumb and forefinger like a precious artifact, "is non-negotiable." Her free hand sliced through the air for emphasis. "If you don't use this primer, I will personally hunt you down." She pointed the tube at me like a tiny weapon, eyes narrowing. "Don't destroy my masterpiece."
I nodded along, eyes widening at the threat, fingers unconsciously touching my newly defined eyebrows while trying to memorize the complicated names and steps. Hannah practically bounced with anticipation beside me, her feet performing a little dance of impatience.
"Ready for phase two?" Hannah asked, already steering me toward the elevator. My legs felt wobbly after sitting so long, but she didn't seem to notice, jabbing the "up" button repeatedly. "The boutique's next."
The doors opened, and my breath caught. The boutique occupied the entire third floor, a maze of silk and leather. The air smelled like new fabric and possibility, with undertones of someone else's perfume lingering like a ghost.
My designated dressing room could have housed my entire bedroom. Cream wallpaper caught the light like pearl shells, and the carpet swallowed sound with expensive plushness. Three mirrors conspired in corners, ready to catch every angle of transformation. A velvet chaise lounge sprawled beneath a crystal chandelier, supporting a mountain range of fabric—delicate things in colors I'd never dared to wear, their tags fluttering like nervous birds.
"First, we start with bras and panties," Hannah announced, her voice bouncing off mirrors with cheerful authority. The door clicked shut behind me with the finality of a jail cell.
I figured the worst part was over, and I had to admit I liked the outcome of the makeover; how bad could this be? I looked through all the clothes and found the stack of bras and panties. They were matching sets, lacy, and not something I would ever wear, but I knew it would be a losing battle to fight with Hannah, so I put on the first one.
"Um, I think it's too small," I yelled to Hannah, who I was pretty sure was standing right outside the door.
"How do you know?" Hannah asked. I looked down at myself. The panties looked like very, very short shorts, except for a portion of my butt hanging out; they fit okay, but the bra I was practically spilling out of. "Come out and show me." Hannah's voice bounced off the dressing room walls, bright with enthusiasm.
My heart slammed against my ribs. "What?" The word came out strangled. The mirror showed too much skin, too much of everything I'd spent years hiding. "I'm in my underwear."
"I know!" Her laugh trickled under the door like water. "Don't you ever shop with your other girlfriends? It's what you do."
The question hung in the air between us. Other girlfriends. Years of online classes and homeschool flashed through my mind. The dressing room suddenly felt smaller, its walls pressing in with memories of all the normal things I'd never done.
"Come out," Hannah sing-songed, closer now. My fingers found the door latch, trembling. One push and I'd cross a line I couldn't uncross.
"You know what?" My voice cracked. "I think it's fine." The words tumbled out too fast, desperation wrapped in fake casualness. Please let it go. Please don't make me explain.
"Come on, Olivia." Hannah’s fingertips appearing under the door gap, wiggling impatiently. "If it fits, you have to show me."
My hand hovered over the door handle, heart thundering in my chest. The mirror reflected a stranger back at me—someone wearing confidence like lingerie, someone who maybe could step outside this dressing room and into a different life.
The door creaked open before I could change my mind. Hannah stumbled back, nearly tripping over her own feet as her jaw literally dropped. She recovered with a theatrical gasp, clutching at her heart. I forced myself to walk to the full-length mirror, my knees threatening to buckle with each step, feeling like a tightrope walk between who I was and who I could be.
"Holy hot tamales," she breathed, her hands flying to her mouth in exaggerated shock. "If I were a lesbian, I would fuck you!"
I assumed that was a compliment. "Uh, thanks." I looked at my reflection self-consciously, arms instinctively crossing over my exposed skin. "I don't wear stuff like this." My gaze lifted to meet Hannah’s through the mirror, who was practically bouncing on her toes behind me.
"Well, you totally should." She reached out, gently uncrossing my arms and positioning them at my sides. "If I had a body like that, I would never wear clothes, like ever," she declared, sweeping her hand through the air with dramatic flair. I laughed, the sound surprising me with its authenticity.
"What do you do to get a body like that? And please don't say you were born with it because I'll have to kill you!"
I thought about the question for a long moment realizing the only exercising I really did was running. "I run." Running wasn't just exercise—it was an escape, therapy, punishment all rolled into one. Each footfall on pavement meant one less second spent remembering, one less moment trapped in my head. My reflection stared back at me, a stranger in expensive lingerie. Sure, I had curves, but they were just the shell housing all my sharp edges and dark corners. Hannah saw something worth admiring. All I saw was someone who'd learned to run away really, really well.
On the other hand, Hannah was stunning; I didn't know what she was complaining about. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was thick, her skin deeply tanned, and her eyes bright blue. She was several inches taller than me, with a curvy feminine figure and legs that went on forever.
"What?" Hannah's nose wrinkled in confusion. She tilted her head like a puzzled puppy. "Like for fun?"
I shifted my weight from one bare foot to the other, eyes dropping to the plush carpet. I wasn't quite sure how to answer that. I didn't exactly run for fun; most of the time, it wasn't fun at all. I ran for miles, hard and fast, until my lungs started burning with the threat of exploding. I ran until I couldn't feel anything emotional because the physical pain was overpowering. Physical pain was easier to deal with. I ran to escape my nightmares, but that wasn't a conversation I wanted to have.
My shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug as I nodded.
Hannah circled me, examining my body with the calculating eye of someone appraising a racehorse. "If that's what running does to a body," she murmured, tapping a finger against her chin, "then I might be taking it up soon."
I liked Hannah. She made me feel comfortable without trying, and she was funny.
"Another reason you should wear stuff like that is you never know when sparks will fly, and you don't want to get caught in your granny panties." She gave an exaggerated wink. Again, I nodded in agreement to another topic I didn't want to discuss. "Speaking of which, I was surprised to see you with Mr. Pearson this morning. You're not exactly his type. What's the deal between you two?"
"Nick and me?" My reflection stared back at me, cheeks flushing pink against the dressing room mirror. My fingers fidgeted with the lace edge of the bra. "Nothing, we're friends."
Hannah leaned against the doorframe, a knowing smile playing at her lips. She crossed her arms, one eyebrow arching with perfect skepticism. "He is smoking hot," she counted on one finger, "and you're smoking hot," another finger, "and when two smoking hot people get together," she clapped her hands together with a decisive smack, "they have smoking hot sex."
My head snapped up so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash, eyes widening as they locked on hers. The unfamiliar underwear suddenly felt like it was burning against my skin. "Oh my god." The words emerged as a strangled whisper.
Nick's face flickered through my mind—not the polished man version from this morning, but the teenage boy who'd taught me to ride a bike, who'd bandaged my scraped knees, who'd disappeared when I needed him most.
Hannah waggled her eyebrows in the mirror. "What? It's the truth.”
A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. She was so far off base. Like she’d said before; I wasn’t Nick’s type.
Hannah had been right; this was fun. The makeover was brutal, but everything else was "fun."
We spent what seemed like an entire day in that dressing room. I tried on hundreds of clothes and left it up to Hannah which ones were keepers, requesting that she be conscious of what we spent. Nick was fronting the bill for this, and that bothered me, but I knew Emmett would pay him back once everything was settled.
When the sun finally dropped and I had officially tried everything in the store, we decided to call it a day. I had no idea what we spent or what was purchased; Hannah had everything sent to Nick's before I could go through it all.
Hannah tugged her purse strap over her shoulder with a flourish, as if punctuating the end of our shopping marathon. "We need food." Her eyes lit up, sparkling with mischief as she leaned in conspiratorially. "Let's get dinner, have a few drinks, and see if we can find hot guys to flirt with."
The familiar tightness gripped my chest, an invisible vise closing around my ribs. My lungs seized, each breath shorter than the last. The boutique's elegant lighting suddenly seemed too harsh, the spaces between racks too narrow.
Hannah's animated expression faltered. Her outstretched hand hovered between us before gently touching my arm. "Olivia?" Her voice dropped from its usual volume, brows drawing together. "Are you okay?"
I shook my head, fingers finding and gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as they anchored me to something solid in a room that had begun to tilt.
I had severe social anxiety, not to mention I was socially awkward. I'd always been a bit of a loner, but after the "incident," I had issues getting close to people at all, and Emmett had been overprotective, demanding I focus on school. My anxiety eventually got so bad I was pulled from school and homeschooled. So far, it had worked for me. After today, though, I realized what I was missing.
The thought of a crowded restaurant pressed against my chest like a weight. But something was different today. Maybe it was the way I'd survived the salon's chaos, or how Hannah's chatter had somehow become a comfort rather than a threat. Each "normal" thing I'd managed felt like a small victory, a tiny piece of myself reclaimed from the girl who'd learned to hide so well.
"Are you okay?" Hannah asked again, her usual exuberance dimming. She hovered closer, head tilting as she studied my face. Her hand fluttered uncertainly between us, as if unsure whether to offer comfort or give space. I didn't want to tell her what was wrong, though I was sure she knew I had issues, and I wasn't ready to talk about it.
"Yes, I'm fine," I replied, forcing my shoulders to relax as my breathing steadied. I patted my chest and offered a weak smile. "Asthma." The lie sat bitter on my tongue, but I swallowed it down. I hoped she wouldn't question it.
Hannah's eyes narrowed slightly, teeth catching her lower lip. "Are you sure you're okay?" she pressed, her voice gentler than I'd heard it all day.
"Yes, I'm fine." I straightened my spine, pulling strength from somewhere I didn't know I had. My hand made a dismissive wave in the air between us.
Hannah studied me for another beat before her sunshine demeanor returned, brightening her face like a switch had been flipped. She grabbed my hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Okay, then let's go show off the new you."