Color Me Pretty

skylight at the storm and I decide that even if it doesn't pass, even if it stays this way forever, it's not so bad.
    Emmett has the pleasure of being the first man to ever venture below, to ever bring me to the edge of pleasure with his mouth. I don't tell him that, but I think he knows anyway, and he's damn good at it. He knows exactly how far to take it before he stops and comes back to me, entwining himself in my arms before he slides his cock into me, before he brings stars to my eyes and hope to my heart.
    We fuck in the tree house, and it's the best sex I've ever had, best for us both, I think. Because up here, it's just us, and there's nobody passing judgment. Up here, I don't think about the size of my breasts, only that his hands are on them, his mouth. I don't think about how boney my hips are, only that they're cradled against his pelvis. Emmett makes me forget and I love him for it. I do. I really, really do.

Two weeks pass and nothing changes. I don't relapse,
    but I don't improve much either. I gain a few pounds, but not enough. I have energy, but not a lot.
    I hear nothing from my family; I don't contact my friends.
    I decide that until I can gain more control over myself, I should stay away from them.
    The blue fabric slides through the sewing machine and out the other side, pooling on the coffee table in a heap. I push it through fast and finish my seam, dragging it back around for inspection. Looks pretty good. I'm pleased with myself. I mean, I should be getting better. All I've done for the last few weeks is go to sewing classes with Emmett and fuck. That's pretty much it, but it's amazing, and it's just surreal enough that I feel like it falls outside the scope of normal reality, which is exactly where I need to be right now. I'm not ready to face the world as a whole yet.
    My dress is taking shape, slowly and cautiously, and yeah, maybe it's riddled with mistakes, but it's my creation, the first one I've ever had the guts to realize. I fold the fabric in my lap with a sigh and stand up, shaking out the wrinkles and tossing it over the back of the couch.
    When Emmett's at work, it can get awfully lonely around here. I have no car and no money to spend even if I did.
    “I need to get a job.” Even as these words leave my lips and float around the quiet room, I know that need and want are two entirely different things. I need a job, but I do not want one. I want a career, always have. I pause on my way into Emmett's bedroom and glance down the hall, towards the back door that I never use. My tongue slides across my lips as I turn to face the single window winking sunshine across the floor. I might be wearing men's socks and a baggy tee, but I think I can still rock it.
    I start walking, keeping my arms by my sides, my chin up, my hips forward. I pound the wood floor in my thick, woolen socks, imagining as I go that they're heels, something flashy, tall and fierce. And as I walk, I analyze. Will this make me happy? Will this complete me? When I hit the door, I pose and tuck my lower lip behind my teeth. I look in the glass and pretend that a hairless girl with sunken cheeks does not look back out at me. God, I can't wait to feel sexy again. It's certainly been awhile. When I'm with Emmett, when I see myself reflected in his eyes, I feel pretty, but it never lasts. Like I said, I have to find something in myself. He can only take me so far.
    I walk back down to the end of the hallway and am surprised when somebody starts clapping.
    I spin to face the intruder and find Kylie North standing in my living room.
    “What are you doing here?” I blurt as my heart pumps fiercely and my body reels from a rush of adrenaline. She looks around the room with her bright, green eyes, takes in the sewing machine, the drawn blinds. I must've left the door unlocked.
    “I knocked, but you didn't answer,” she says as I reach up a hand to wipe hair from my face. And then remember that I don't have any. My hands fall to my sides. I look at Kylie and see that she's got on a beautiful long-sleeved jersey dress that hits her mid-thigh and shows off legs that are white, but not pale, more like they've been carved from stone or something. The fabric is gorgeous, purple with blue flowers, a Christopher Kane piece if I'm not mistaken, which I could be. I feel so out of the loop now.
    I cross my arms over my chest to hide the faded Earth Day logo that's printed on the black fabric.
    “So you just came in?” I ask her,