When I wake up in the morning, there is a blissful moment of forgetfulness before Michael creeps back into my mind and I feel sick. I sit up, stretching my arms over my head before laying back on my pillows with a groan. This is by far the coldest morning of the year so far, and it came on so quickly. The thought of trekking all the way across campus makes me wish I could just pull the covers over my head and avoid all responsibilities for the day.
When I stand up, my heart feels a little heavier. There is no movement from upstairs, and I listen for too long. I drag my comforter off the bed and wrap it around my shoulders, dragging it into the kitchen. My phone is plugged in on the kitchen counter, and I have a text from Dana with the address of the party tonight. I debate telling her that I won’t make it, but I just text her back to thank her.
I was invited, and I want to go. Michael will be there. I am past the point of being “done” with Michael. We are not done, we could fight every single day and not be done. I will always be drawn to him; he will always come around.
Last night was a small explosion, and I haven’t had time to assess the damage. I am not about to fall into Michael’s arms, but I already miss him. I sigh deeply as I shut my door behind me, knowing that the day ahead will be long.
During my Classic Literature lecture, my phone buzzes with a text from Dana.
*No problem. Tonight’s dress code is a little fancy. Black tie!*
I internally groan; I hadn’t planned on going shopping today. I don’t own a single piece of clothing that could even come close to passing as black tie formal.
I don’t hear a single word of any of my lectures today, my mind is elsewhere. It is two in the afternoon by the time I leave campus, and I groan at the prospect of stopping at the mall. I avoid shopping at all costs, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I walk right out of the first department store I walk into. Yes I am dressed in jeans, but that is not a good enough reason for the saleslady to look me up and down and then roll her eyes and ignore me. People like that don’t deserve my money.
The next store looks a little more promising; I walk over to a rack on the far wall and begin going through the dresses. Everything is either too short, too bright, or too… no.
I finally locate a normal looking black dress and slide it off the rack. I can already tell that it will fit me, but I try it on anyway. I don’ want it to just fit, I want it to look good. Especially because I am not going with Michael and… okay, I want him to see what he is missing. That’s petty, but what they say is true. Relationships bring out the worst in people sometimes.
My mother always told me that a little black dress should be a staple in every woman’s closet, and that’s why I don’t feel too bad about the higher-than-I-would-normally-be-willing-to-pay price tag. I bump my elbows on the walls of the tiny dressing room stall, pulling the silk fabric over my head. I have to unlock the door and stand in the hallway in order to really see myself in the mirror, but I look… good.
I look different. You can actually see that I have a defined waistline in this dress, and the neckline dips lower than I am used to, but it’s… sexy. ish. I generally try to avoid anything that could be labeled as “sexy,” but I am pulling all the stops tonight. The hem of the dress falls right at my knee, reassuring me that it is not inappropriate. I take one last look in the mirror before peeling the dress off and deciding to buy it without overthinking.
I stop in the shoe department and pick out a pair of plain black heels, hoping that I will be able to walk in them. When I make the purchase, I swipe my card without even looking at the total. I have a little more money than I am used to, so whatever it was, I can finagle it. Right? I can. I can.
