Color Me Pretty

pain. It isn't hard, but it also doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Good. My rebirth has changed me. All I need do is follow this path, let myself grow in body and spirit. Things will get better. They will.
    I stand up and head back to the bedroom door, opening it at the same moment Marlena begins to dial on her cell phone. I look at her, and I have nothing else to say. Until she decides we can move on and focus on the next phase of my journey instead of the previous one, things will remain as they are. I head to the front door and stand with my hand on the knob.
    “Get out.”
    Marlena doesn't budge.
    “I'm not done talking about this, Claire.” I shrug my shoulders.
    “Well, I am. When you're ready to take the next step, come find me. Tell that to Mom and Big Bob, okay?”
    “This is ridiculous,” she says, eyes wide, hands up, palms facing the ceiling. She can't believe that things are not going her way. Too bad. Maybe there's a lesson in all of this that Marlena is supposed to learn, too. She can't control the whole world. She can try to make things better, but she can't bully people. I can't wait for her to figure that out. Once she does, I think we could have a relationship again. Maybe.
    “Please, leave.” This voice is not mine; it's Emmett's.
    He steps in the door dressed in a red long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark jeans. No beanie this time. Looks like Emmett's hair is actually behaving today, laying nice and thick across his skull, dripping over his forehead but not obscuring his eyes. I smile. Marlena frowns.
    “Why? So you can take Claire back to death's door?”
    “So we can get ready and go to class.” Emmett reaches out and takes my hand, sliding a brochure through my fingers. I look and see that it's the schedule for the community center. A sewing class is circled in red. My smile turns into a grin. Deep down, I feel a small bite of guilt for the way I talked to him before, when he asked me to design something for the fashion show he's no longer in charge of. I have to brush it back though, or I won't be able to deal with my sister.
    “You can't stay here forever, Claire. This little fantasy bubble of yours will pop at some point, and you'll come crying home. You always do.” She storms off, pushing past Emmett and heading out the door. I slam it behind her. What Marlena doesn't get is that this has never happened to me before. How can I have come crying home when I never really left?
    I turn to Emmett and give him a sympathetic look which he returns.
    “Was she here long?” he asks, and I shake my head. It felt like hours, but it was probably minutes. And then, a dreaded question, but one that I don't think he means. “Have you eaten?” He cringes right after he says it, like he's just realized how bad that sounds. I just shake my head, holding the brochure out, so I can stare at it.
    “Not yet,” I say and my voice comes out as a whisper. Emmett turns to me and takes my bandaged wrist between his fingers, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. He smiles gently.
    “That's okay,” he says, and then, “Are you hungry?” I look away, and I feel ashamed when I next speak.
    “Not really.” My argument with Marlena didn't exactly whet my appetite. Even the idea of putting food in my mouth feels like a win for her side. I promise myself that I'll eat tonight when we go out with Emmett's dad.
    Emmett doesn't make a big deal about this. He just nods and pulls me into his arms for a kiss.
    “Did you get the job?” I ask him, and he just smiles. I slap a palm against his chest. “You did, didn't you?! Aren't you going to tell me where?” Emmett's smile blossoms into a grin.
    “You'll never believe this,” he says to me. “But I just got hired at the Super Smoothie.”

I wear a sleeveless, black gown from Alice and Olivia by Stacey Bendet. It has a small cutout in the back and probably cost Emmett several hundred dollars. I feel guilty the second I put it on. And fat. And skinny. The sensation is so odd that I end up getting dizzy, bending over the sink and letting my head hang low, red hair cascading down around me. That's right – I got a wig. It's human hair, and oh so beautiful, red as rubies, shiny and healthy and perfect. I think it looks fake as hell, but Emmett promises me that it doesn't. He says nobody would ever know it wasn't real.
    I look up at my reflection, and I'm happy to see that I'm not quite as ghastly this way. The hair falls gently over my cheeks