17. Chapter Seventeen #2
I force myself to strip out of my personal uniform of soft leggings and a loose dark tunic that's always kept me comfortably covered, a feeling that turns into a distant memory as I hurriedly dress in the new clothes I've been given.
The velvety black undershirt isn't so bad, but the deep purple, body-hugging top makes me feel like I'm suffocating.
I guess since I have no say in wearing it, I should be grateful it completely covers my chest, so there's no risk of exposing my lack of tattoo.
I'm more concerned about the bottom half right now anyway.
The very worst of the outfit comes in the form of skintight leather pants in the same shade I can barely tug over the swells of my hips.
I don't do pants. And I definitely don't do skintight anything without a layer on top.
I'm covered from ankle to shoulder, but I feel naked, with every curve and soft part completely on display.
"Is everything alright?" the older woman's voice calls above the sounds of a kettle whistling. "Pop out when you're decent so I can make the adjustments."
Pop out? As in, go out there, looking like this? In front of both of them? No, thank you.
"Ah, yes, fine. I think I'm just missing the tunic."
"There isn't one." This time, it's Cayzenn who answers. "Loose, thin fabrics are far too impractical. Or did you think I was joking about the crawling and climbing? You won't last a day in that flimsy stuff. Now let's go. There's a lot to do."
I can't go out like this. It's not just out from behind this screen but out beyond this room, this house.
Existing in front of people with everything on display.
I've been hiding for as long as I can remember.
The idea of calling attention to myself by wearing something different now, after years of trying to fade into the background, makes me nauseous.
A fist squeezes my heart, strangling my lungs, making my breath come in short, fast pants.
No matter how much I try to suck in more oxygen, my throat keeps constricting, and I can't get enough air.
The feeling of the fabric clinging to my body, wrapped tightly around my upper arms, my thighs, my stomach, has me silently begging to escape.
I crumple to the floor, not feeling the pain of my knees hitting the hard wood. The falling sensation continues long after, everything around me frozen and glassy, like something is clouding my vision. I blink rapidly, trying and failing to clear the lavender haze.
What's happening? I can't move anything more than my eyes.
Even opening my mouth seems impossible, and I realize the room has gone eerily silent.
Then, I'm hit with a flood of fragmented images and voices.
My mother's disapproving face, indistinct children pointing and laughing, the cold, cruel declaration that I should care more, try harder, do better.
The ever-present crushing weight of wishing to be something or someone else. One voice, louder than the rest, chants, "Not enough, not enough, not enough."
Desperate to make the noise stop, I want to throw my arms out and push back against the invisible walls on every side inching closer and closer as the swirling chaos continues to get louder and more vivid until I think I might pass out.
"What's happening? What's wrong?" Aven sounds muffled, like he's forcing his way in, cracking through my panic.
He's here, even though I didn't reach out.
I can't figure out how to say anything back through this fog.
"Breathe, Alyxia. You have to breathe," he instructs.
"Try to find one thing to focus on, something nearby you can see or hear or feel. "
Closing my eyes, I try to follow his calm, steady voice, focusing on my hands resting in my lap and the smooth leather under my fingertips.
It takes a monumental effort to curl my fingers even the slightest bit.
When I do, the band around my chest loosens a fraction, enough to let me suck in a gasping breath, then another and another, until I'm back in the room, the hard floor solid under my knees.
"Thank you. I think I'm ok. I have to go.
I'll check in soon," I send back, wiping away the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks and getting to my feet when I hear Cayzenn warn he's about to come in if I don't go out.
Taking one last deep, steadying breath, I step out from the safety of the screen to see him sitting in a faded armchair by the fire, one hand wrapped around a huge mug of milky tea.
His eyes widen as he looks me up and down before a grimace flickers across his face, like he’s in pain. Guess I look as ridiculous as I thought. At least there's no sign he noticed anything weird over the last few minutes—not that he'd be likely to tell me if he did.
Marlia gestures for me to step up onto her riser and busies herself checking the fit, muttering and scribbling notes on a torn scrap of paper as I fight the urge to cross my arms in front of my body.
"How do they feel, lady? The sleeves are a little long, but that's an easy fix.
Can you move freely? Have you got full range of motion?
You want everything to fit like a second skin.
Otherwise, it can turn into a liability when you're out in the wilds. "
I attempt to stretch my arms in different directions, the top is definitely restrictive. Damn, I think it's too small for me. I'm mortified, not to mention feeling terrible about all the wasted work the seamstress put in, only for it not to fit.
She must have seen my face fall, because she gives me a reassuring smile. "No problem. I think we did pretty well, considering the measurements were estimates. The pants and shirt appear to fit you perfectly. It's just the top that needs altering. It's a little snug in the chest area."
I flush, but she says it with such kindness, it eases my guilt. At least until she bustles off to the far side of the workshop, and Cayzenn clears his throat behind me, muffling what I think is a laugh. I spin around to meet his grin with a fiery glare.
"Something to add, Commander?" I pour all the snark I can muster into that title and he holds both palms up, feigning innocence.
"Not at all, Thief. In fact, I agree with Marlia's expert opinion.
" He full-on smirks now, closing the distance between us until he's in arm's reach.
Not the smartest choice right now. "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself very much.
I thought women liked getting new clothes. You look like you're being tortured."
I refuse to dignify that with an answer, instead demanding, "Why are you still here? Surely, you have better things to do than sit around watching me try things on."
"Other than to make sure my newest squad member is properly outfitted?" he retorts dryly. "You'll see why soon enough."
Goddess, this man is infuriating. "Soon enough, but you can't possibly make it easy by giving me a straight answer now?"
"Where's the fun in that?" He laughs, and a hint of a dimple pops in his left cheek. Of course it fucking does.
Kill me now.