I was dressed in a completely inappropriate shade of pink. And I did not care one bit about what the others thought of me. I liked the colors almost as much as I liked the men. Pink, perfect, young, vivacious.
It was a word they often used to describe me. The men, of course. The women, well, they had harsher words. Anyway, it was that little pink dress that got me in trouble, as the elders would say.
You know the saying 'pretty in pink'? That's me, only I was ten times that. I was fucking beautiful. A goddess in pale shades of naked.
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Men turned their heads after me, as I walked down the street in my almost not there dress and their partners chided them and scorned me, because they, probably, did not look so good in pink.
OR in any other color for that matter. But that didn't...
nothing did. Not when I was with him, not when we were together. Two outcasts living on the edge of this miserable world. He liked my pretty pink dress and my naked breasts and he caressed me until all the nasty eyes and words went away for good.
Or until tomorrow.
I suppose you could say I loved him, in a way, despite everything. I loved being with him, that's for sure.
I can still feel his strong, manly hands sliding down my hips, pulling me close and lifting my short pink dress.
We were drinking champagne and losing our shirts. Well, he was, anyway. I already had my clothes off. I rarely wore shirts, and when I did, they weren't really mine to lose. He would hold the expensive bottle high in the air and let it drip unto my heavy breasts. Heavier then usual, like soaked cloth. He always called them my perfect silky pearls.
I miss him.
I miss him now.
And it hurt terribly.
Hurts. It hurts.
But he's not here now, of course, and there's nothing I can do about that. I liked those afternoons together, although they smelled too much of alcohol and too little of actual love. It was what I wanted, then.
I remember meeting him, at a club. Well, in a basement would be more appropriate. It was a place with filthy toilets, plastic chairs and really really cold walls. The sort of place you wouldn't get out of in case of something...
My usual joint, at that stage of my life, when the parties had waned and the rich, powerful men that usually flocked to my heels...vanished.
He was tall and angly and artistic. And in search for a muse or a life to fuck up, who knows. Thing is we hit it off smashingly.
His nails digging into my throat as he kissed me.
We were happy for a while. And then, just as sudden, we weren't.
The day Lilian learned to drive – that's when I figured it out. I'd wanted to wear my little pink dress when I met her for lunch, afterwards. But I couldn't, because it would not fit, I pulled it on and what had once been loose now clung to my body.
I felt heavy and bloated in it. Ugly. It seemed that the curses of all those jealous bitches caught up to me, in the end.
I didn't make a fuss, I just pulled on a loose shirt and jeans – because screw it, I look good in anything.
I knew the truth, without checking, it was the only thing that could've happened, because I always watched my weight and I was twenty-one.
We always had excellent metabolism, in my family. Apparently not excellent enough.
I waited. I didn't know how to tell him, how my jaded artist would react to the news. Actually, I think I did and that's why I waited.
I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.
He never said it out loud, either. He may have had his flaws, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid. He caught on pretty fast. Maybe he saw it on my face.
He would stay.
Those words echoed like cocaine in my brain – like magic. He would stay.
Only he didn't stay. One night, when he was blind with rage and lust and out of his head drunk, he told me they had done something – the doctors. They'd ruined my body. That I wasn't the same. That was the only time he tried to justify himself.
It just wasn't in his habit. It was, now that I think about it, one of the main things that had attracted me to him like a little fly.
I don't know where he is, I just know he wasn't home one day, when I got back. I was wearing my little pink dress, which once again, fit me like a charm.
Whatever damage they had done was apparently on the inside.
I stood in front of the mirror and thought: