Paint Me Beautiful

Lianna was going to sign me, that all of this was going to be over and that I could stop feeling so tired and so dizzy and cold. I don't want to exercise anymore, and I don't want to keep passing out, and I don't want to lie to Emmett, but I can't stop yet. I can't shake the feeling that I'm still not good enough.
    “ I have no doubt that you're more than capable, Claire Simone,” Emmett tells me, leaning over to press a warm kiss to my lips. He doesn't take it any further, instead grabbing my hands and helping me to my feet. “But first we have to get you cleaned up, so you can make me an egg white omelet.” Emmett winks at me as he grabs the soggy orange dress with his smooth fingers and slides it up and over my head. It comes away without protest and falls to the floor with a wet thump. My panties, the ones I wore to help control my flabby belly, fall to my ankles with little help, like they've expanded somehow since I last washed them. It never occurs to me that maybe I'm the one that's changed size. I slip out of my Louis Vuittons and see that the shoes are now completely and utterly trashed, something that before would've had me at the very least in a hissy fit but that now, I barely notice. “I think a bubble bath sounds just about right on a day like this,” Emmett suggests, and I answer him with a small smile. That should've been my defining moment where I knew that something was wrong. I had one of the hottest boys I had ever seen shirtless and sexy, compassionate to a fucking fault, willing to run me a bubble bath on a rainy day. I should've been in Heaven, but instead, I was still firmly entrenched in the depths of hell.
    “ Get in with me?” I ask Emmett who pauses at the doorway to the bathroom and thinks about that for a moment. I step up close to him and slide my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his strong back, letting the heat of his body sweep over and consume me. I'm not asking for sex, don't even think I'm up to it right now. I just want to feel Emmett's body cradling mine, holding me, promising somehow that everything will be okay. I still don't think he quite understands how badly I want this, nobody does, but I do believe that he understands what I need right now. I need friendship and support; I don't need clinics or hospitals or pills or shrinks. They might work for some people, but they won't work for me. I know that without even trying because Lianna is right: people like her and me, we have to test the limits before we find our niche. Emmett gets that.
    “ Of course,” he says and his voice is so soft that it almost comes across a whisper. I release him and watch as he pads across the white tiles on the floor and pulls away the shower curtain with a sweep of his hand, switching the water on and plugging the drain while I watch. I lean my shoulder against the door frame and try to appreciate the melancholy beauty of the situation. There should be a string orchestra playing in the background right now, but instead, there's nothing but the sound of rain against the skylight above my head and the roar of steaming water from the faucet.
    “ Why did you leave?” I ask Emmett as I close my eyes and rub at my face with the butt of my hand. I need a distraction from the thoughts of my failure today, my humiliation. I made the biggest fool out of myself and proved that no matter what I might think, I still have a long ways to go before I can truly consider myself an adult. Instead of hanging my head in shame, I try to focus on Emmett and how amazing he's been. His seeming perfection doesn't bother me today. Like I said, I'm not right in the head anymore. One moment, I'm annoyed with Emmett and just wish he'd drop dead and at others, I see the light, see how lucky I am to have found a guy who, after a week's time, is willing to leave his job and drive halfway across town to pick my ass up off the floor. My synapses aren't firing right, leaving me all twisted up inside. I examine my blue nails and wait for Emmett to respond. As per usual, he's thinking carefully about what it is that he's going to say.
    “ My dad was not the kind of person I wanted to grow into,” he tells me as he opens the medicine cabinet and fishes out an unopened bottle of bubble bath. I'm starting to suspect that maybe he bought it specifically for me, that and the pink rug, the peonies. I can't be sure, but I'm willing to bet that most, if not all, of the new items arrived the night of the cooking