Beneath the Velvet Chains

Something was different this morning. Something was coming, and I could feel the weight sitting heavily on my chest. From the moment I opened my eyes, I knew that I had to have my guard up—not that this was unusual for me. I always tried to live cautiously, always tried to present a picture-perfect image of myself to the world, something ingrained in me by my mother. "You can't let the world see you break, Abbie," she would say. "It's better to be a predator in a world of prey." I know she only ever wanted the best for me, wanted me to succeed in my career, find a man as successful as she expected me to be, but it always left me feeling like something was missing, like there was a hole inside me that could never be filled because, no matter how hard I tried, it would never be good enough. However, it pushed me to try, and at only 25, I ran a successful sustainable fashion business. Don't get me wrong, I'm not living like a Kardashian, but I earn enough money to own my own home outright and can enjoy a few of the finer things in life without worrying about money. Running my own business also allows me the freedom to come and go as I please without having to answer to anyone—a goal I had when I spent 18-hour workdays for almost no money, trying to source materials and manufacturers for my business while simultaneously being laughed at by those around me. My mother thought I was foolish. As far as she was concerned, I was too smart to be "wasting my time on my dreams." She wanted me to go into law, like her and my father, but it was never an interest of mine. Although having a lawyer for a mom has come in very handy for me and my business, and after 3 years in business, she finally sees the hard work pay off, and I believe she's proud of me—not that she would ever say that to my face. As I lay in bed, trying to think about the day ahead and ease this sinking feeling, I remembered the party. Jenny Bray's birthday party. I suddenly understood why this feeling of dread was so hard to shake. Jenny was lovely and one of the only people I remained friends with since school. Jenny wasn't the issue; her popularity was. The problem was Jenny was lovely to everyone, which meant all those kids I once spent long, tiresome school days with would also be at her party, and they would all be drinking. I wasn't popular in school; I only spoke with Jenny because her mom worked with my mom. As far as everyone else was concerned, I was a stuck-up b***h who thought she was too good for everyone else because I refused to go to parties and didn't really speak with anyone in my class. In reality, I didn't have time for friends and parties. My mom had a plan for me, and it didn't include distractions such as sleepovers and boyfriends. But tonight, I would have to face them all. I thought about saying I was sick and pulling out, but I promised Jenny this time I would go. No excuses. Getting up, I walked to my wardrobe, contemplating what I might wear. Running a fashion brand meant I needed to look good. This party was as much about showcasing my success for me as it was about wishing Jenny a happy birthday. None of these people thought the frumpy girl from high school could do it, so I had to not only prove them wrong but also to turn up in one of my own designs, looking like I'm on the red carpet—it would be the icing on the cake. They weren't wrong about me being frumpy; I really did look like a teenage boy in high school, always in oversized jumpers, with my pulled-back hair in a bun. However, I carried a little extra weight back then, and my mom never let me forget it, so coverups were what I was most comfortable in. To be honest, the less people noticed me, the better back then, but not tonight. All those years of working non-stop, constantly on my feet, moving heavy loads of fabric and materials, and, to be perfectly honest, not having the time to eat or drink regular meals meant the weight fell off and was replaced by lean muscle. I'm in the best shape of my life, and I intend to show it off. Looking through my wardrobe, I picked out a red, satin scoop-neck mini dress that was fully open at the back. I've worn this a few times, and I've never gone home alone. I had no intention of going home with anyone tonight, but my track record with this dress told me I looked good in it. I'd decide on shoes and accessories later. Just then, my phone rang. It was Marcus. I sighed. Marcus was a nice guy, but he wanted more than I was willing to give. I had met Marcus through a business acquaintance, and we hit it off. We had been on a few dates which went well, and the s*x was good, but I didn't have the time for a commitment like that. I had spent too much of my life listening to what other people wanted from me that I never got the chance to live out those teenage years of fumbling at parties with boys and doing things we shouldn't have in the back seats of cars. I was a virgin until I was 22. My first time wasn't special, certainly not worth the wait. It was after a business conference with a guy I'd been emailing for a few months about sourcing specialty fabrics. When we met, I was still uncomfortable in my body, and we rolled around his hotel room in the dark with my clothes on and just my dress pulled up. It was over in 5 minutes, and I left his room feeling deflated, wondering if that was really it. Obviously, I'd made myself orgasm before; it was my main go-to when I needed to let out some stress, but could this really be s*x? It wasn't enjoyable at all. Eventually, as my weight came off, and I became more confident in my own skin, my confidence in bed grew with it. I was no longer afraid to take control of the situation, although I still had to fake my orgasms. As much as I now enjoyed the feeling of s*x, it just wasn't enough to get me off, and for those men that cared about my pleasure, faking it was an easy way to finish up. I didn't have time to f**k for hours on end; after a certain point, I just needed them to c*m and leave so I could finish myself off, then either catch up on sleep or get back to work. Looking at my phone, I watched as Marcus' call dialed off. I'd call him back later, maybe. I needed to get my affairs in order for the day so that I wasn't rushed for the party. Throwing on my go-to black jumper and beige canvas trousers, I ran out the door. My town wasn't small, but it was small enough where most people knew each other in some capacity. Most of the people I'd gone to school with had married each other or were still pining after each other; then there were the outcasts. Mostly alternative people who maybe smoked too much pot when they were younger and never managed to escape the stigma, and then there was Axel, or Axe as he preferred to be known. Axe was a "freak" in high school. He showed up in all black baggy clothes, with white makeup and black lipstick and numerous face piercings. He was regularly dress-coded and sent home, but he didn't care. He would still come back the next day dressed the same. Eventually, the school stopped and just let him dress however he wanted. He was the only boy to ever ask me out in high school. Of course, I turned him down; my mom would never have allowed me to date anyone, especially someone like him. He didn't take it well; he called me a snob, told me I'm not as great as I think I am, and he stormed off. I think he believed that someone like me would have been desperate for any attention, and while I was extremely flattered that he'd asked, it wouldn't have worked. I've seen him twice since then over the years; both times he ignored me, turning his nose up at me, but I didn't care. I had my own goals to think about; I wasn't going to dwell over a stupid interaction I had with some boy in high school. Especially since he still hadn't grown out of those awful piercings and makeup. No, I'm better than that. Heading into my office, I greeted my assistant, Francine. "Is there anything important for me to deal with today?" I asked her, trying to stress the word 'important.' She knew I was in a rush. "We just need your sign off on the patterns for next season, and Marcus called, asking if you were free for lunch. I told him you were in meetings all day, and I'd pass on his message," she said with a smirk on her face. "Thank you," I replied, returning her smirk. "I'll be in my office, but I'll be leaving at lunch, so whatever you need me to sign needs to be on my desk before then." "Yes, sir," she said, giving me a joking salute. Sitting at my desk, I wondered who would be at the party tonight, and my anxiety started to heat my chest. I wasn't feeling so confident now. These people never bullied me, but they weren't nice to me either. I was weird to them, an anomaly in their carefully crafted subculture of teenage angst and s****l discovery. I couldn't think about this anymore. I'm a successful business owner; I don't have to feel inferior to these people any longer. I'm the one they should envy, and it's about time I started acting like it. My day flew by, and before I knew it, it was noon. Packing up my bag, I made my way out of the office. "Good luck tonight," Francine said. "Do you think I'll need luck?" I responded with as much fake confidence as I could muster. "I think you need a Mojito, and you'll be fine." We both laughed; she wasn't wrong. A drink would definitely help settle my nerves, but it was too early. I just need to put on my big girl pants and get through this. I'm the one they should envy. I'm the one they should envy, I'm the one they will envy. Saying our goodbyes, I headed home for a nap and a long bath before the real preparations began