Paint Me Beautiful

bacon. We're going to sit together and eat, just like normal people. I pick up my fork and poke at the egg whites.
    “ Tell me about your design aesthetic,” he says which makes me glance sharply up at him. Immediately my mind is drawn to that yellow legal notepad with the blue colored pencil. A girl dances across those pages dressed in her own creations. Her arms are outstretched and her feet bare; she doesn't care who looks. Her clothes just fit, and she doesn't know what size they are. She doesn't need to. I think of the organic lines and the swirls and wide swathes of fabric that I imagine to be in brilliant, blinding color.
    “ Why?” That one word, a whisper. Emmett looks at me funny, plate already empty, and then his eyebrows slide up towards the rim of his beanie.
    “ For the tree house,” he says, brown eyes digging so deep into me that I wonder if he can see what I see. He pauses and licks his lips, sets his plate aside with a clink and scoots towards me. One hand takes mine and the other reaches up to brush against my face. “You don't have to change overnight,” he tells me. “If you're worried about something, you can tell me. If you don't want to do something, you can tell me. I'll be proud of you, no matter what, and I think, as long as you stay honest with yourself, you will be, too.” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip. “Come on, give yourself a chance, Claire.”
    “ I like natural things,” I tell him which surprises us both, I think. I just blurted the words without thinking about them, and then I can't stop myself from continuing. “Round things, swirly things … I like color, and fabrics that you can touch, that are more than just visual.” I stop and lick my dry lips, picking up my orange juice without thinking and feeling the fine hairs on my arms stand up when the overwhelming sweetness slides down my throat. I try not to think about the calorie count, but it comes to my mind unbidden: 112 per cup.
    “ Wow,” Emmett says, letting go of me and propping his chin up with his hands, elbows resting on his knees. “You sound like me. I think this place is gonna look dope.”
    “ Dope?” I ask with a laugh.
    “ Cool, hip, stellar.”
    “ Stellar?” I'm laughing again, happy on the outside, rotten on the in. It's an uncomfortable feeling, no matter how you look at it. I hold up my hand before Emmett can continue. “Stellar is perfect.”
    “ Well, then,” he asks. “What are you waiting for? Let's get this done. We're burning daylight.” Emmett reaches out and grabs my little hand in his big one, takes the tray – and the pressure – away with the understanding that it's all still a bit much for me. This makes me smile for real, makes my heart swell for him. He won't stop trying, but he won't push me either. I am lucky to be able to orbit a presence as solid as Emmett's. This starts my day off right, gives me a niggle of hope in the bottom of heart, so why, oh why, do I wake up the next morning covered in blood?

 

    Emmett doesn't tell me where the tree house is andinstead lets me use the map to lead the way, trudging through the forest in a pair of Italian leather boots by Christian Louboutin. Don't judge – designer wear is all that I have. And the outfit I'm wearing? A red halter dress by Roberto Cavalli with one, single white feather on the front. Only an idiot would wear $10,000 worth of fashion into the forest, through muddy puddles, up dirty rope ladders. That's okay because I don't think too highly of myself anyway.
    My hands shake as I ascend into the trees and I start to realize that there's a good chance I won't make it. When I climbed this ladder the first time, I was weak. Now, I'm practically falling apart.
    “ Just a little further,” Emmett whispers from behind me, voice a bit huskier than usual. It's nice to see that he's at least a little bit tired, too, but then, I'm not carrying anything and he has several bags filled with linens, accessories, food. Emmett even has a broom and a dustpan strapped to his back, right over the top of an old, fleece shirt that I should hate but that I can't stop staring at him in. Emmett makes fashion obsolete – anybody that pretty doesn't need to dress up their body. “You can do it, Claire. Remember what I said before? Just when you think you're going to fail, that you should give up and give in, that's when you put your all into it. If you do, you'll make it just fine. I promise.”
    I lift my pale hand