Page 89 of Kill Me

“Unfortunately?”

“Life would be easier for all of us if you had been successful. Arms up, let’s get you dressed.”

I couldn’t lift my arms up if I tried, so it’s just another way for her to make me feel inferior, lesser than. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it does. Every. Single. Time.

“Can we do it downstairs, please? I don’t want to sweat my makeup off from getting down the steps.”

“It can’t make you look worse than you do. Come on, arms up.”

I know better than to argue with her, so I do as she asks and lift my good arm. She scoffs at my attempt to raise my other one and then manhandles it into the jumper, seemingly oblivious to the levels of pain she’s causing me.

As she dresses me, I pull myself up so I can ready myself to scoot down the stairs. She steps over me, making a noise like she’s fed up with me being in her way, and makes her way down the stairs ahead of me. By the time I reach the bottom, beads of sweat are littering my forehead, and I’m wishing I stood up for myself more and waited until I’d gotten to the bottom.

She puts her hand out to help me stand and then goes to turn me around.

“Now, it’s time to admire your reflection.”

“No, Mum—”

“Oh, don’t be so silly, Quinn. How else are you supposed to know if you look impressive enough to catch a man?”

“I don’t know, you could compliment me yourself?”

“Why would I do that?” She looks at me incredulously.

Why, indeed?

Despite my protests, she spins me around, and I notice a new mirror on the wall. Bigger than the usual floor-length ones around our house. It is quite literally a wall-to-ceiling mirror, and it almost looks like it makes me bigger. You know, like in the House of Mirrors at the funfair, where you have the mirrors that make your body look flawless, and then the ones that make you look short and stumpy? Yeah, this one does the latter. I look red-faced. My hair is frizzy despite her having done it, like she purposely forgot the heat protectant and hair oil, and my reflection almost takes up the entire width of the frame.

Why does this man want to go on a date with me again?

“Now,” she says, “what do you see?”

“A fat mess?” I ask.

“Other than that.” I almost laugh.

“Why don’t you tell me what you see, Mum?” I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself, but he can only make me feel better on our date, surely?

“I see a girl who needs to lose weight, but her face could be pretty once she has. I see chunky legs and your leggings show off bits, but he could be a man that likes that. You should be careful of that camel toe. Make sure you don’t wear tight trousers, and jeans are a no-no if you want to impress a man, and never wear a high-waisted thong; the fatty lips will spill out of the sides, and that’s unattractive. You have a backside, which is something, I suppose. Your hair looks lovely because I styled it. Your makeup skills leave a lot to be desired, but at least there is room for improvement. Hopefully his standards are lower, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.” She pats me on the shoulder and walks off towards the kitchen to cook her favourite adult child’s dinner.

I scoff to myself. The only way is up from here, right?

I stop with my recollection for a second, feeling the need to check in. Not just on Bones, but to remind myself that that is no longer my reality. That I’m safe.

“Are you okay, Little Magpie?”

“Yes. I think so. Are you?”

“I’m fucking furious, to be honest. But that’s my issue to deal with, not yours.” The beeping of the vitals monitor, as always, brings me back down to earth a little.

“I don’t think I want to tell the next bit like it’s a story. I want to tell you like it’s just us in a room talking about our past history as a new couple.”

“We’re a new couple, are we?” He smiles.

I roll my eyes back at him. “Don’t play with me, Bones, you know exactly what I mean.”

“I do.”