Paint Me Beautiful

game plan like Emmett said. Maybe I really could design an outfit for that runway show? Maybe, as Marlena had suggested, I really could take up photography? But then almost is a terrible word. It makes you feel like you've done something when truthfully, you weren't even close. It soothes a guilty soul, but almost does not an accomplishment make.
    “ Thanks for showing me that,” I tell him honestly, touching the hair on the back of his arm, wondering what it cost him to admit that to me.
    “ You're the first person I've ever told,” he admits and without looking at him, I can tell that he's smiling. I glance over my shoulder to confirm my suspicion. Yep. He's grinning like a fool. I reach up and ruffle his hair.
    “ So?”
    “ So we have a secret. Every good friendship begins with a secret.” I snort.
    “ Where did you find that quote? In the back of your grandmother's bible?” Look, Claire, there you are. There's still a bit of that fiery redhead that you once were and could be again. Hold onto her before you lose her forever. Emmett laughs and then he holds me tight, tight, tighter until I can barely breathe, until I have to breathe in unison with him we're so close.
    “ Don't let it kill you, Claire, you're stronger than that.” I touch his hand gently with my fingers. Am I really? I guess only time will tell.

 

    After our bath, Emmett and I fool around for a bitin his bed before he falls asleep with his head on my belly and my fingers wrapped up in his mussy hair. I wait until he starts to snore before I push him gently off and head into my bedroom to get dressed.
    The razor blade sings a vibrant, bloody song to me, begging me to touch it, caress it, lay it against my skin, so I can wake up inside, so I can really, truly feel. But then, of course, I remember what happened at Lianna's and decide that maybe it's best if I am a little numb right now. I'm afraid to find out what I'll do if I actually come to terms with what I've lost and the track that my life is now thundering down without any concern about where it mind end up.
    I stand naked in front of my closet of designer clothes for a long, long time.
    This used to be my pride and joy, my treasure trove. Like an art collector seeking out paintings for their gallery, I sought clothes, and I created my own, little museum of finds. I grab a ruched dress in my hand and rub the fabric between my fingers. Dolce & Gabbana, I think, just to make sure my memory is still intact. I end up pulling the dress out and staring at it. I've spent the majority of my life defining who I am by using other people's creations: clothes, music, books, movies. I think about what Emmett said about my designing a piece for his runway show and suddenly, like I've been snapped into place by an unseen hand, I'm sitting on my bare ass on the wood floor and drawing in a notebook.
    The only writing utensil I could find was a thick, blue colored pencil and the only canvas, yellow legal paper, but my mind, what's left of it anyway, doesn't care. It's desperate to show the world at least one, little something that belongs to me.
    Swirls of color fly across the page until the whole thing is so messy that I can barely see what it is that I've drawn and switch over to the next and the next and the next until I've filled the entire notepad and am scrambling for more. Next, I grab my address book and flip to the notes section, using the mostly blank pages to finish out the last trickle of ideas that are in me. When I'm done, I drop my creations to the floor and use my $2,500 gown as a towel to wipe the tears that are now flowing as freely as the rain outside my window.
    When the tears finally do stop, I am left with only one feeling, one that I haven't felt for a long, long time.
    Hunger.
    The Dolce & Gabbana gown goes over my head and a pair of satin platform pumps go on my feet. I march right past the razor blade and into the living room, grab Emmett's keys and take his car for a spin to one of the scariest places in the world: the grocery store.
    When I get there, I sit in the parking lot for what seems like forever, watching the time change on the dashboard but unable to move, paralyzed with fear. My rapacious monster is back, rearing to tear into that white brick building and come out with everything they have. She wants to eat me to death as punishment for starving her. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, letting the sounds of the storm comfort me.
    And then I go in.
    I forgot