Present

8.2

Audrey

A couple of hours later I was sitting in the passenger seat of my mom's car, my knuckles white from gripping the edges of the seat. We parked in the parking lot of my apartment and I sat, motionless and unblinking.

"I know it's not easy but you have to wear something that isn't a pair of jeans," Mom coaxed, trying to make this as painless as possible. I didn't want to go in, or even see what the apartment looked like for that matter. It would look the exact same as we had left it, and the thought of Gwen's clothes lying on my bedroom floor nauseated me.

"We could just run to the mall and buy something new," I whispered. My eyes were beginning to get dry but I was afraid to blink. I wouldn't cry, not here.

My mother's patience was wearing thin, despite her best efforts to be a comfort to me. "If you don't go change and get ready, we won't go," she said flatly.

I blinked. I couldn't look at her. I didn't even bother to nod. I got out of the car slowly, numbly, and meandered toward the apartment. I shoved my key in the door and unlocked it and took a step inside. For a moment, it felt like I was back to normal life. Everything was as we left it; I vaguely remembered wanting to pick up the apartment as we left for the party. I just never got around to it, because I was coming home from a weekend with my parents and Gwen would be over later. Yes, that had to be right. But that was when the nausea hit. I clapped my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom, what little toast I had in my stomach exploding from my body and into the toilet. Life wasn't normal, and it never would be again.

I ran into my room quickly, refusing to look at the floor and pretending that her things were not there. I knew if I looked, I would never make it out of the apartment. I snatched a black dress from the closet and quickly ran back to the bathroom and the putrid stench of my vomit. I stripped down and pulled the dress over my head and looked at myself in the full length mirror on the door. The dress was a modest A-line with three quarter sleeves and a scalloped neckline. Simple. Classy. Unlike my hair which was still a disaster even after the shower.

I snatched the brush from the sink and switched on my hair straightener. I couldn't go looking like this, no matter how bad I felt. I yanked the brush through my frizzy hair and slapped on concealer and waterproof eyeliner and mascara. I knew I would scrub my face raw trying to get it off later, but prayed it would be worth it. The light stopped flashing on the straightener and I ran it through my hair, one meticulous section at a time. Mom would be antsy by the time I got in the car but she could wait. Twenty minutes later I switched off the straightener and simply stared at myself, dread filling my stomach like a bag of rocks. It was just one night I had to get through, one night of seeing her in a box like some Barbie Doll. After today, I would never have to see her like that again. After today, I would never see her again.