Paint Me Beautiful

up to the next rung and wrap my blue nails around the white rope before a horrible thought crosses my mind.
    What would happen if I let go?
    I close my eyes and try not to let that train of thought run any further. Unfortunately, the imaginative part of myself has been let loose lately and is on a roll. A vision of me falling, pale and pretty, red dress fluttering around me like a pair of wings, fills my head until all I can see is my blonde hair ruffling in the wind, turning red-orange as I plummet down, down, down.
    “ No,” I whisper aloud as I force myself up another rung. I'm not ready to die; I have no death wish. That doesn't matter though, really. I'm still killing myself, and I refuse to stop, don't know how to stop.
    “ Claire, are you alright? Do you need some help?”
    I want to say yes. Instead, I say, “No.”
    I pull myself up to the next level while the nightmare in my head plays on. I see myself, cheeks full and rosy, body covered in flesh that isn't sallow, doesn't flake away when I brush my fingers across my skin. My lips are plump and moist and I have breasts again. Red, red hair and gray-blue eyes smile back at me as the imaginary me crashes to the dirt floor, breaks into a million pieces and lays there in a sprawl of limbs and the sweet, hot flow of blood. Maybe it's a premonition, using my fear to warn me against my later actions? Well, if it was, I ignored it.
    “ Claire?”
    I don't answer Emmett, pushing forward when I want to give up. Hell, maybe that was the lesson I was supposed to learn?
    The image of me falling plays in a continuous loop and refuses to let up until I'm climbing through the hole in the floor and collapsing in a sobbing heap with my stupid designer dress flaring around me, mimicking the spill of blood in my vision.
    And then Emmett is there and picking me up, cradling me to his chest as he shoves the plastic, shopping bags out of the way with his feet, so we can lean against the wall together, panting heavily, sweating terribly. I look up at him and whatever it is that he sees makes him grab my face in his hands and press his forehead to mine.
    “ I'm afraid I'm never going to really know you,” he admits, and I know what's implied there. That you are going to die, that we won't ever see what could've been, that the world will never really know you as anything but a wannabe superstar.
    “ I'm afraid that I'm never really going to know myself,” I reply, and then Emmett and I are kissing hard, fast, furious. My hands come up and cup his, slide around them and absorb some of that warmth that I'm missing so bad it hurts. I pull them down and let him wrap them around my waist. I need life and heat right now, need to absorb as much of it as I can while there's still time.
    Bags of curtains and rugs and carefully wrapped vases all go flying as I scramble up onto Emmett's lap and thread my hands together around his neck, holding on for dear life to the idea of happiness, to the idea that I can beat this, that I can overcome this terrible something that's been inside of me since the day I was born. I don't know why it's there or how it got there; it just is. I think there are a lot of people like me, people who want to be happy but can't, who can't figure out why their life isn't good, who can't point to any one reason, but feel this rapacious monster cold and angry inside of them.
    “ It's okay,” Emmett whispers against my mouth. “It's okay.”
    Suddenly, it just clicks, and I understand what he means, what he's talking about.
    It's okay. I understand you. I'm just like you, and I overcame it. You are not alone, and it is going to be okay. It's going to be alright.
    “ Emmett,” I whisper, holding him tight and tasting him with my mouth, absorbing a part of him with every breath. Fighting against the uncertainty and the guilt is a flutter of wings. Could it be? I wonder as I move the fold of my dress out from between us. Could I be falling in love? I don't have an answer for that anymore than I have an answer for all the rest of it. I guess I'm just going to have to hope that I survive long enough to find out, that I make it to the end of this love story and find a happy ever after.
    I undo Emmett's pants, even though my hands are shaking like crazy and my eyes are full of cold tears. He sits back and lets me do it, watches me through half-lidded eyes, glances away for one brief moment as if wondering if he should do this with me, wondering if I'm actually going