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“Come on, hurry up, I’m dying to see!” Emma calls.
I grin and hustle out and stand before the mirror once more. She claps, talking as she circles me, but my eyes are caught on my reflection. I look like a woman… I look beautiful. The material clings to my curves, showing them off before ending mid-thigh. The high neck makes it look sophisticated and classy. My legs appear really long in it, going on for miles. My skin seems darker against the red, and the green of my eyes shines brighter.
Viewing myself, I realize my face is skinnier than it has ever been, thanks to not eating, and I wish it looked how it used to. The woman staring back at me seems older, more determined…fiercer. Emma yanks out the string I hold my hair back with, and it tumbles in untamed curls around my slim shoulders. She pulls it forward and arranges it before frowning. With a mutter, she gathers it behind my head, and with quick, deft fingers, ties it back. Finished, she pulls a few stray curls down to frame my face. I turn my head, spot the chignon, and smile.
It looks good, really good. I hesitate for a moment, debating getting it before reality comes crashing back. “Sorry, Emma, it’s truly beautiful, but I don’t need it,” I say in place of the truth—that I can’t afford it.
I ignore her protests and head back to get changed. When I come out, I place the dress on the register and wander around for what I came here for. I find a gray skirt and a white polo shirt, which looks okay—acceptable enough for an interview. I’m just passing the new section bin when my eyes catch on something red. They’re usually items people donate that don’t fit…or that rich people bring because they feel bad just tossing things out, like that red dress.
It’s a lingerie set.
The lace cups are shaped like triangles, almost see-through, leading to silk red straps. Between the cups is a gold clasp hidden behind a silk bow. The matching lacy thong has two strings tied into bows that would sit high on the wearer’s hips. It’s a deep red, and I can’t help but reach for them. They feel so soft, buttery, and definitely expensive, and when I check the sizing, I almost squeal. My size! I never find any in my size! My big boobs make it hard. The ratty bra I’m wearing now is covered in stains and rips, and soon enough, it will snap and free the tatas.
Not that I actually like bras, a device made by the Devil himself, but sometimes, a woman has to wear them. People are so offended by nipples these days, as if seeing an outline of one might cause them to lose their eyesight or send them straight to hell.
Why can’t we be offended by a man’s nipple then? Especially the ones surrounded by hair placed on a bouncing set of nasty man boobs.
Gross.
But when I check the price, I sigh, because if I buy it, I won’t have any money left at all. So even though it almost physically pains me, I put them back and head over to Emma at the register, who is watching me with a friendly smile. Another reason I like her, she never pities me.
Fuck, she even clothes the homeless for free and gives them haircuts. She’s a goddamn saint in my eyes. I plop my purchases on the counter, but my eyes keep going back to the bin in the corner, a battle of wants versus needs waging within me.
I hesitate before rushing back over for the lingerie and putting it down in my pile with a slight reddening of my cheeks, but Emma just laughs. She rings it up, and I hand over the money. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Rory. Come back anytime, you know that! And whoever you are wearing that lingerie for is a lucky man,” she teases with a wink.
I smirk. “Does a woman need a man to wear something pretty?”
She laughs harder. “Too right, girly!” she calls as I take the bag, and with a wave, I head outside. The bell chimes overhead as I step out onto the pavement, the brisk air making me pull my coat around me as I juggle the bag. I frown at the heaviness of the bag and look inside. I gasp and almost go back to the store, but it wouldn’t do any good. In my bag is the dress I tried on, the red one,anda pair of black heels.
Sometimes you have to accept a helping hand.
I pass the spot where the homeless man was perched but find him gone, and it makes me feel good as I tuck my hands into my pockets and take the long way home. I’m almost back to the park when I hear a bark.
Something dark shoots past me, and I stumble back with a gasp before turning my head to see it. It’s a dog. It stops suddenly and looks at me. I blink and fall to my knees.
“Muffin?” I almost scream. It’s been so long, so many years. We couldn’t find him after…after that night, but as I focus more on the animal, I realize it’s not him. He’s a pit bull, just like Muffin, and has a heart on his nose, also just like Muffin. But his fur is darker, a mix of gray and brown. He’s slimmer as well, his paws are white, and he has white splashed across his forehead, nose, and even his belly. His tail is a stump, and one of his ears has been chewed nearly the entire way off, but it’s the eyes that capture me. One is blue, one brown.
And they are so happy. He wags and rubs against me, barking excitedly. “Sorry, doggy, I thought you were mine.” I sigh and stroke his back before getting to my feet. I glance down again before looking around for his owner, but I don’t see anyone, and he has no collar.
I’m betting he’s a stray. Fuck. I force myself to walk around him, but he jumps and sits in front of me, tilting his head adorably. “Don’t do that,” I demand, my eyes narrowed. “I can barely feed myself, pup, never mind you too.”
He barks, and I prop my hands on my hips, feeling the bag bang against my thigh. “No,” I say sternly.
So here I am, having a staring contest with a dog. He lies down, his head lowered to his paws, and I step away, but my heart hurts when he whines. Nope, not my dog. I can’t look after another person or animal when I can’t even take care of myself.
I begin to walk away, but I can’t unsee him. The beautiful pit watches me with those mismatched eyes, his scars only making him more handsome, more worthy, and I groan. Fuck, this is a really bad idea, but I can’t help it. I pat my thigh. “Come on then, boy, you want to come home with me?”
He barks like he can understand me, perks his ears up, and trots over. I start to walk, glancing down as he happily ambles at my side.
Did I just adopt a dog?
