Chapter 10 #2
“Well, it is, actually.” He puts some of the bags down on the floor and uses his now-free hand to rub the back of his neck. “Don’t be angry with me, okay?”
“Don’t give me a reason to be angry.” I glance down and see a glimmer of emerald green satin peeking out of one of the open bags.
“I could see you were getting worked up in the shops, and you were dismissing everything. I was worried you would end up going home with nothing and feel shit. So I went back to the shops and chose some stuff so you don’t have to.
I thought you could try it all on at home where the lighting isn’t horrible and you’re more comfortable.
” His words fall out of his mouth in a rushed jumble.
He seems nervous, which is not a side I’ve ever seen of Connor.
“What are you thinking?” he asks when I don’t speak for several seconds.
I just stand there gawping at him like a goldfish. “Honestly?”
“Always,” he says without hesitation.
“I don’t know whether it’s sneaky and insulting” – Connor winces at my words – “or the sweetest, most considerate thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I think we should go with the second one!” Connor raises his hand as if taking part in a vote. “Definitely the second one.”
I laugh, and Connor joins me, clearly relieved that I’m not biting his head off.
“Thank you.” I step closer and pull him into an awkward one-armed hug.
“My pleasure,” he says genuinely.
I bend down to pick up my basket and start towards the till to pay for my hoard, but a terrible thought stops me in my tracks. Connor bumps into me from behind and almost drops the bags he’s carrying.
“Woah, you okay?”
I turn slowly to face him. “You bought me clothes.” It comes out as a statement as I try to process my thoughts.
“Yes, and we’ve already agreed to not be angry about that.”
“But you don’t know my size.”
My heart is in my mouth, and my stomach has dropped to the floor, leaving a gaping void in my midsection.
Did he guess my size? What if he’s automatically picked up the size he thinks women should be and they’re too small when I try them on later?
How will I tell him I’m too fat for them?
Or what if he overcompensated for my size and bought everything three sizes too big?
I don’t think I could cope with seeing that number on my clothes.
My mind spins with the possibilities, each more humiliating than the last. I look up at Connor’s confused face.
“Of course I know your size. I know your shoe size and favourite shampoo as well, FYI. Just give the clothes a chance?”
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. I head towards the counter and pick up one of the ridiculously soft cashmere blankets on the way. If I’m going to have a breakdown today, I might as well be comfortable.
I am so uncomfortable. All of the clothes Connor chose for me are spread out across my temporary room: some laid out carefully on the bed, others hung from the wardrobe and curtain pole.
They’re beautiful, every single item, and exactly what I would choose for myself if I had the body for them.
I’ve been standing staring at them all for twenty-five minutes, trying to pluck up the courage to try something on.
The thought of looking in Ivy’s full-length mirror in one of these outfits makes me nauseous.
The prospect of showing Connor, who has been waiting patiently in the living room all this time, brings bile to my throat.
I decide to bite the bullet and try on the green dress. What’s the worst that can happen?
You’re going to look disgusting.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I continue to undress regardless.
Connor has been so kind in trying to help me, the least I can do is try them on.
Even if it breaks me a little inside. I keep my eyes from the mirror in the corner of the room, desperately avoiding looking at my reflection.
I don’t want to see my wobbly tummy, the cellulite covering my thighs or my visibly asymmetrical boobs.
I reach for the dress. It feels cool and soft in my hand.
I loop my fingers into the delicate straps and hold it up in front of me.
It should be so easy for someone to feel sexy in something so simple and elegant.
Feigning confidence, I step into the dress and pull it up, shimmying to manoeuvre it over my hips.
I feed my arms through the straps and reach around to pull up the hidden zip.
I need to twist my arms uncomfortably, but I manage it and sweep my mousey hair onto one shoulder.
Before I have chance to look in the mirror to see the damage, there’s a knock on my door.
“Til? Are you okay? You’ve been ages.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I call through the door. I try to sound cheerful but struggle.
“Have you tried anything on yet?” he asks carefully.
“Yes… I’m wearing one of the dresses now, actually.”
There’s a loaded pause.
“Can I see?” Connor’s voice is gentle, coaxing.
I feel like I can trust him, even with this. I answer before I can change my mind. “Okay.”
The door opens slowly and Connor steps in. His eyes are pointed low, first looking at my bare feet. Shit, I should have put some heels on! My legs are going to look stumpy without them.
But Connor doesn’t focus on my feet for long.
His gaze slowly moves upwards, up my legs and pauses for a second on the slit up my left thigh before continuing up.
His eyes stop again when they reach my chest, the low neckline plunging slightly between my breasts.
His eyes roam upwards again, past my exposed collarbone and neck before finally looking me in the eye.
His dilated pupils make his usually chocolate brown eyes look black, and I have to admit it looks sexy as hell.
When he doesn’t speak, I start to panic.
I’ve humiliated myself by letting him see me in something I have absolutely no business wearing.
I shift my legs uncomfortably and try to hide my tummy with my arms. I haven’t had chance to look at myself yet, but I can fully imagine what he’s seeing: I look horrendous.
“You look incredible,” he finally says. “You should definitely wear that one to go out with work.”
“I’m not sure,” I mumble. “It doesn’t fit quite right…”
Connor mutters something to himself, so low I can’t hear him, but I’m too distracted to care. I have to send all of the clothes back. I was stupid to agree to try them.
I should have just stuck with my usual stuff. I rush around the room grabbing the clothes and throwing them into random bags.
“What are you doing?” Connor asks, watching me with concern.
“They need to go back. I can’t wear any of them.”
I finish loading the clothes from the bed into a paper bag and realise how constricted I feel in the fitted dress I’m wearing.
My body flushes, suddenly burning hot, and my heart races so fast I expect it to burst at any second.
I reach around me to get to the zip but it’s even harder to pull down than it was to pull up, and my clammy hands aren’t helping the situation at all.
You’re disgusting. You don’t deserve nice things.
I bend my arms another way, trying to reach the zip from a different angle, but it’s useless. Panic sets in and the room spins. I have to get out of this fucking dress.
“Tilly, what’s wrong?” Connor’s eyes, back to their usual warm colour, are wild with worry, but he’s trying his best to keep calm and quiet.
“I just… I have to… I…” My brain shuts down completely then and forming sentences isn’t an option available to me. A tear falls down my face from a mixture of humiliation and fear. I look at Connor, silently pleading with him to help me. “Off!” I manage to say, pointing at my dress.
“You want me to take the dress off?” he asks, running a hand through his wavy hair.
I nod, gasping for air. Just as I think I might pass out, Connor’s behind me and unzips the dress, his warm fingers grazing my back on the way down. He starts to push the straps from my shoulders, but I slap my hand on top of his to stop him.
“Out!” It’s more of a plea than a command. I’m mortified that Connor has seen this much, I don’t want him to see me in my underwear too.
I doubt Connor wants to see that either.
Connor hesitates but backs away towards the door.
“I’ll be just on the other side of the door. Shout me when you’re decent.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, I tear the dress from my body and throw it at the mirror. Unable to bear being exposed, I pull on the nearest leggings and hoodie and collapse, sobbing, onto the floor with my back against the bed.
What was I thinking? I have no business wearing clothes like these. I’m best just blending into the background, drawing no attention to myself.
I’m facing away from the door, and my face is hidden in my hands, but I hear Connor come in and walk over to my side. I feel his warmth as he slides down and sits next to me.
“I heard you crying, I couldn’t just stay outside and listen to you being upset on your own.” He reaches his arm around me and pulls me into his side. I let my head fall into his chest, and he holds me tight as my body jerks with every sob. “I’m so sorry, Tilly,” he whispers, sounding pained.
“What for?” I ask through my tears.
“For forcing you into a situation that you weren’t comfortable with. You were right, I am a dick.”
I take a deep, rattly breath and put my arm around Connor’s waist to hug him back. I feel his muscles tense then relax as he moves his free arm to cover mine, holding it in place.
Connor tries to speak. “You don’t have anything to apologise for—”
But I shush him like he’s one of my pupils. “You were trying to help me, and it was really sweet and kind and thoughtful. It’s me that’s the problem, not you or the clothes.”