Partially

Zelda Makes A Friend

   "Ah," the woman said, her hair in a loose, grey bun that was slowly falling out. "Prom?" She asked. She had a thick accent.

   Zelda swallowed and looked down at her dress—she had loved this dress the moment she saw it freshmen year, but had gone with another one for homecoming, telling herself she'd wear this dress to prom. She had worn it to prom—and now she had to take it off because it was impractical and stained. "Yes," she said.

   The woman nodded. "Must be rough," she said. "Was supposed to be a big night, yes?" Then frowned, like she wasn't sure if she was right about something. "Prom is?" She shook her head and went through a pile of folded clothes. "Must have been pretty."

   Zelda had looked amazing, in her late mother's high heels she had adored when she was younger but had been reluctant to wear even though she knew they would fit, and the necklace Green had bought her when they were young. The woman handed her an outfit—yoga pants and a spaghetti strap, white tank top. "Try this on," the woman said, pointing in the direction of an area, closed off with a curtain. "Over there. Come back if the fit's not right."

   Zelda grabbed the outfit and walked over to the curtained area. She looked at her skirt and sighed. This dress had cost two hundred dollars. She had bought it because she loved the dress and wanted to have a good memory of tonight, and she knew her and her family had the money, ever since they sued that hotel for their horrendously unstable frame that obviously couldn't keep the building upright, or when the subway exploded for reasons no one understood except the owner and had paid her and her family significantly for the damage done to them—which was just a few broken bones and they had to take the bus, Zelda still didn't understand what her father had agreed to to get the money—but now...it was such a waste.

   She sighed and tried to get the zipper on the back—she couldn't reach it. She tried to tug the dress off, but it didn't budge so she went back to trying to grasp the zipper.

   "...You need any help?" The woman asked.

   "I can't unzip my dress," Zelda told her. Footsteps came closer, the woman pushed the curtains aside.

   "A lot of blood," she said. "You injured?"

   "No," Zelda answered. The woman unzipped the back. "Thank you."

   She moved the curtain back in place and slipped out of the dress. It fell on the stone floor. Zelda noticed that she still could feel some blood on her back, sticky and gross, goddesses, that was someone's blood, but also, it was on her bra—her favorite bra. She looked down at her shoes, but there was just a speck of red on her toes, not on her shoes. Okay. She could deal with that—but if tonight had ruined her dress, her bra and her shoes, she'd be pissed.

   Reluctantly, she took off her high heels and slipped the yoga pants on but almost tumbled over and ended up grabbing onto the curtains. Her feet were starting to hurt, from the shoes, but she ignored the dull throb and pulled the tank top on. It was a size to small, she was pretty sure, but also, it was very long and there was a lot of space in the chest. She adjusted the straps so they weren't murdering her shoulders and then put her shoes back on before grabbing her dress. She couldn't get clean—the first thing the woman had told her was the water had been shut off for a couple hours.

   She walked back to the woman. She grabbed her dress and looked at it. "There's no saving this," she replied mournfully and threw it into a trash can before looking her over. "Do you want different shoes?" She asked.

   "No." She would wear these shoes to her grave—plus her feet didn't hurt that much. They actually hurt significantly less than the rest of her body and she had been wearing heels for most of her life. She liked being tall.