This rockstar life

4.8 Late

Content: Discussion of pregnancy and eating disorders

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Steve had been ready to go for ages. Black trousers, black jacket, white shirt; the only choice to be made, loafers or boots (he went with loafers). He was halfway through yesterday's Daily Express (nice that you could get English papers in the bigger hotels, but they were of course always a day or two behind) and paying no attention to the storm of clothes and accessories being flung around at the other side of the room when a growl of frustration drew his attention. Alice yanked yet another dress off over her head and threw it approximately in the direction of the pile on the bed.

"All my clothes are horrible," she exclaimed. Now wearing just knickers and tights, she stared at her reflection in the mirror with an expression of deep distaste. "Or they're just horrible on me because I'm so fat."

Steve paused, aware that anything he says is going to be wrong. She didn't look the slightest bit fat obviously; maybe, now he came to think about it, maybe even a bit thinner than usual. He carefully sidestepped that minefield with, "you have heaps of nice clothes. An actual heap right now in fact."

"They're all boring. And ugly. All the girls at shows wear those tiny, sexy things, and I would look like a hippo in all of them."

"No, you wouldn't. Do you want to dress like that? It's not really...you."

Ignoring the question, Alice twisted from side to side in the mirror, pushing her shoulders back and arching her back.

"I hate my boobs."

"But... they're lovely?"

"They're too small."

"They're the right size for the rest of you. And... you know... perky."

"I need a padded bra." She put a hand under each breast and pushed them together, before making a despairing face and folding her arms across her chest.

Steve dropped the paper and moved to stand behind her, trying to see what she was seeing in the mirror that was so different from what he saw.

"Don't. I like them." He wriggled his hand under her folded arms and cupped her left breast tenderly. "A perfect handful. Why would you need more than that?"

"Apparently so you can flaunt them at rockstars."

"Oh, you mean our front row fans? Yeah, there is a lot of... boobage on show. What? I can't deny that I notice. I mean, it'd be hard not to. But that doesn't mean..." He moved his hand to her waist. "Okay, this is another one of those times when I tell you a story that's supposed to make you feel better but just makes me sound like a dirty old man. One of the many, many reasons that that last lot of rehab didn't work, was that I spent all the time in group therapy, when we were supposed to be processing our trauma or whatever, trying to imagine what your tits looked like under those baggy jumpers you always wore."

"Ha, bet you were disappointed when you finally found out."

"No, of course not. I've never been disappointed by anything about you. You're perfect."

Alice shook her head. She knew he meant it, but she also knew he was completely wrong, and obviously needed glasses. "I just stand there every night in a sea of gorgeous women, all looking at you with goo-goo eyes, and I have no idea why you would ever pick me."

"Because I love you, you idiot. And you're beautiful. And it makes me sad that you can't see that."

"You're very sweet." She wrapped her arms over his and squeezed.

"And you are very silly. Now, are we going to this thing or not? We should have left twenty minutes ago."

Alice wrinkled her nose, eyeing the messy bed covered in rejected garments. "I could just wear the bedsheets," she suggested gloomily. "Right over my head. That would solve everything."