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And the final one where I—tried on wedding dresses.
All of that would seem fairly typical of someone who was about to get married.
Exciting even.
Except I didn’t want to marry Stuart.
And after I tried on the tenth dress—or maybe it was the twelfth—I had a bit of a—well, I had a strong reaction to that dress.
Because I freaking loved it.
And as soon as I walked out onto the raised platform and looked at myself—I imagined walking down the aisle.
To Cash.
And then I realized that would never happen.
Ever.
Stupid, horrible Stuart would be at the end of the aisle.
In the blink of an eye, I felt hot, itchy welts begin to form on my arms. I scratched, but that only made them worse.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw red welts creeping up my neck.
Then my back started itching.
“Get it off, get it off!” I screamed, clawing at the buttons on my back. I couldn’t reach them, though, and that sent me into an even bigger panic.
“Help me, oh, my God, get this fucking thing off of me,” I yelled at the top of my lungs as I dropped to my knees. I couldn’t breathe. The dress was choking me.
“I’ll get you out, Jillian. Give me a minute,” I heard a calm, kind voice behind me. I turned to see Clara, one of the regular film crew. She was super young, but always sweet and helpful.
And she got me out of that dress in no time so I could finally breathe again.
Unfortunately, my stomach hadn’t gotten the message that the threat was over. It still felt the horrible, impending doom.
“Oh, no,” I said, feeling bile rising in my throat. I ran toward the bathroom. All I had on was a strapless bra and my panties. But getting to the bathroom took priority over my current state of undress.
Luckily, I arrived in the nick of time.
After I washed my face off, I stared into the mirror.
And I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me.
The circles under my eyes looked darker, and my cheeks seemed hollowed out.
If I was doing a makeover on the woman in the mirror, I’d first suggest a really good concealer—and a week of sleep.
The concealer I could find.
The sleep—well, that wasn’t going to happen. I had too much to do, and not all that much time.
“Hey, are you okay?” Clara asked from the doorway.
Gosh.
She was so kind.
