Writing's Second Taste

Chapter Twenty-Four: Retail Therapy

There were situations that I've pictured myself in. However, shopping and acting as if I was suddenly BFFs with Hollywood's Princess was not one of them. She acted so nonchalant as she held up a dress in front of her, assessing her reflection in the mirror.

The employees of the store did not even try to hide their excitement and she did a good job of ignoring the way their hands were basically shaking when she asked them something.

"I'm going to try this on," she smiled before grabbing another dress from her pile and tossing it towards my direction, something I fumbled around in an attempt to catch, "And you try that."

The dress reminded of the one Meg allowed me to borrow back during the restaurant date with Adam. It was tight but long sleeved, but unlike hers which was a dark navy blue, this one was a dark red that I began to doubt if I was daring enough to sport.

Aside from that, it was not hugging the right places and I was constantly tugging down on the hem because it kept on riding up on the back part

"Sienna," Heart called out and I took a deep breath, smoothening down the dress with my hands before going out. She wore almost an identical one, the only difference was that hers had an off-shoulder. Yet, while I looked like a sausage ready to burst, she looked every bit of attractive in that dress.

She twirled around, her blonde hair creating a curtain around her face, and shot me a skeptical glance, silently questioning me if she should purchase the article of clothing. I all but blushed in embarrassment when I saw the two of us side by side in the mirror.

Well, goodbye self-esteem.

"We should do a double date with the boys some time wearing these dresses," she shrugged when she realized I wasn't going to reply, "You look good in that."

"I feel like I'm being squeezed out," I huffed unintentionally, trying to flatten my boring brown hair, "I don't think I like the look of it on me."

Her eyes zeroed on me as her lips flattened down into a thin line, an unamused expression now making its way into her features. She clicked her tongue before standing right behind me, once again emphasizing the height difference between us, especially because I took the liberty of taking off my shoes when I was squeezing myself into this dress while her heels remained on her feet.

"Oh god, I looked hideous a few years back," she snorted, pushing her hair over her shoulder, "But you know one thing that's different now? I didn't even change that much, it all came to the gained confidence."

"I would have guessed the confidence will come from people admiring you from every side," I said, finally finding myself slowly getting comfortable around her.

She smirked at my words, as if she's on in her own private joke that I could never understand, "But I think also being criticized by everybody will also do its damage."

This made my lips go shut and I was already formulating a long constructed apology. I guess she's used to people like me because she already lifted a hand to stop my long train of thoughts, "I'm not offended, in fact, I detach myself from people that aren't part of the industry to the point that I forgot that your opinions are like this."

She was tired – physically and emotionally.

Physically in the sense that you can clearly see the outline of her heavy eyebags that had been desperately concealed through makeup and the way she carefully tries to masks her staggering steps even though she had clearly mastered the art of wearing heels. When she attempts to look calm and composed, you could see how her posture looks like it was ready to collapse. Add to that was her voice, it was turning husky and worn out, probably for overusing it throughout her still on-going tour.