“Marabella, are you ok?” Jonah asks as he walks back in the room, already dressed and ready to go. Now, he is wearing black slacks and a dress shirt.
The buttons of the shirt are still undone as he pushes his belt through the loops of his pants. This time, I fight the urge to look at him and avert my gaze to the floor. I can’t allow my eyes to roam over his body all over again. It will do nothing but make the situation uncomfortable again.
And I don’t want to make Jonah feel so uncomfortable that he stops talking to me. He is the only person with whom I actually enjoy speaking.
“Yeah, sorry. I will be quick,” I mutter under my breath as I escape the room and rush into the bathroom.
I shut the door and quickly click the lock in place. I know Jonah is respectful of my privacy and would never barge into the bathroom while I am here, but I always lock the doors, even without the obvious need to do so.
My hands shake as I remove my clothes and turn the shower on. I quickly step in and wet my hair, and then reach for the bar of soap. The dark tan of my skin makes the scars that lace my thighs stand out even more. I quickly avert my gaze from my mutilated body.
Instead, I focus on taking a shower and washing. When I am done, I quickly wrap the thick gray towel around me and then pop my head out of the bathroom door. Once I make sure the coast is clear, I let out a sigh of relief. Jonah is nowhere in sight, and I quickly make a dash for the room.
I lock the door again, a force of freaking habit, and try to calm my racing heart. I dry myself and apply some body lotion.
Jonah has already hung the dress on the back of the door. There is a slight tremble to my hand as I slowly bring it up and touch the silky dark sapphire blue fabric.
I realize quickly that the dress is figure-hugging, and that realization makes my stomach squeeze uncomfortably. Just great! I sigh in defeat as my eyes scan the room. I need to find the damn heels I will have to wear. I know I will make a fool of myself by wearing them, but it doesn’t look like anyone but me really cares.
The heels are sitting next to the dresser, and I groan. I will break my neck in those. The thought doesn’t seem as eerie as I think of one positive thing I can get out of it – I can avoid going, if I break my neck. I chuckle at my own thoughts. One could wish.
Jonah would probably still drag me along at my mother’s request. Besides, she, the same as Jonah, always says I need to go out more.
Slipping the dress on, I see the back is see-through lace, and the front dips low, showing off more cleavage than I’m uncomfortable with. To top off my misery, my bra can’t be worn without looking out of place, and being noticeable. So, no bra, terrific. The fabric is tight against my large bust and hips, the dress cascades to the floor. As beautiful as the dress is, it just isn’t me.
Staring in the mirror, I feel like an imposter. I look out of place and feel uncomfortable in my own skin. Too much of me is on display. I don’t belong in this world, definitely not in a dress like this.
As I unhook my bra, I quickly remove it and put the top half of the dress back on. Then, I awkwardly pull up the zip that holds the lace together at my back. Guess I will just have to suck it up and deal with it. Towel is drying my unruly wavy hair that falls to just below my butt. I try to figure out what to do with it.
I’ve never been good at doing my hair, and mostly left it in a ponytail or bun. But this is a formal event so I can’t leave it down. Plus, it will drive me insane. I wonder if Jonah would mind if I leave it down. It could curtain me like a shield.
Sometimes I regret never cutting it, but I always have loved the feel of the brush, when mom would run it through my hair. It is something I held dear to me.
Every night she would come in and brush it, even now. I think it is her way of checking on me, her way of getting me completely alone to talk. But these days, it has grown into our everyday routine.
I wish mom could be here. She would braid my hair for me. I doubt very much I can do it myself. Should I even try it? Deciding against it, I reach for my brush.
Sighing, I run my brush through it and pull it into a ponytail when I hear a knock on the door.
“Marabella, we need to head down soon,” Jonah calls out from the other side of the door.
“Yep, be out in a sec,” I tell him as my eyes find the glittery black heels. A nervous sigh leaves me as I try to shove the thoughts away. I guess time is up, I can’t avoid them now.
Grabbing them, I open the door only to bump into Jonah. Smacking into his hard chest, his hands grip my arms to steady me. Note to self: muscle looks nice, but damn, they are not fun to smack into. Is any part of him soft?
“You ok?” Jonah asks, letting me go and stepping back.
His eyes darken as they run the length of me and a growl escapes him, making me jump. My eyes dart to him. His wolf comes forward and makes me step back. That movement makes him shake his head, his eyes return to their blue color. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he mutters, and I realize my heart is still thumping erratically.
Jonah looks me over again and he presses his lips together. “I know you don’t want to go, but you could put some effort into doing your hair,” he says disapprovingly.
My face heats, my hair is untameable. I suck at being a girl, shamefully so. I really don’t know how to deal with it, but Jonah’s words make me wish I at least tried now.