Living on Borrowed Time

Chapter Three

I sighed deeply, allowing my trembling hands to pull on some clothes, my body preparing itself to go to the dreaded outside. I could physically see myself shaking as I glanced quickly at my reflection in the mirror, before grabbing my keys and forcing myself out into the harsh, cold air. I sucked in a deep, painful breath then fixed my eyes firmly on the ground, where they would stay for the whole walk.

You have to do this, Lara. I told myself. Too much has happened; you cannot carry on as you are. But even as I thought these things, they felt alien, disconnected from me. Somehow completely unreal.

I was acutely aware of the nameless bodies racing past me, and each one was filling me with that horrifying, panicky feeling that I detested. I hated being outside without a solid purpose, without knowing exactly where I was going. I didn’t shop enough to know where to look, and I was finding that really hard. I wasn’t at all comfortable with being out of my routine.

But I had to be. I had no choice. If I kept remembering that, then I would surely find a way to get through it.

I concentrated on my breathing to keep me focused. In...out...in...out... keeping my mind solely on that allowed me to ignore the rest of the world, and that was what I needed.

I spotted the first familiar-named high street store, and stepped inside. The bright, intense white lights immediately sent my worry-levels into overdrive. I tried to hide myself in amongst the racks of clothes while I calmed down a little, while I caught my breath once more, but it was too difficult. All the vivid coloured fabrics blurred into one, and it made my headache return with a vengeance.

“Can I help you?” A syrupy tone blasted into my ear drums. I turned around to see an extremely tanned, tall girl wearing bright red lipstick and a stark black pencil skirt. Unlike my scruffy, unkempt appearance, she was pristine and beautiful, without a hair out of place.

To say I found her daunting would be a massive understatement. She was like a powerhouse of intimidation! “I...I...uh...” I shook my head rapidly, trying anything to make her go away. She looked at me a little like I was mental, but I didn’t care.

My feet took on a life of their own, and before I knew it, I’d walked back out into the—now comforting—fresh air. I raced along the street quickly, desperate to get away from that shop and that girl. That was all just too much.

I found myself wandering into a shop I knew well—the grocery store I got all my essentials from. I grabbed an ice cold can of fizzy pop, feeling the familiar, reassuring tin between my fingers. I instantly felt calmer, knowing where I was and what I was doing. This was my comfort zone, I was okay here. This, I could do.

After I’d paid the cashier—who I minimally interacted with at least twice a week—I sipped the liquid, taking stock for a moment. I needed to go somewhere that I could get something nice, without having to deal with pushy shop assistants. I just couldn’t cope with that—this day was difficult enough for me, and I really didn’t want to give up. Not over that. I felt like this was my one and only shot, and I didn’t want my own stupid insecurities to wreck that for me.

I swiftly spotted a friendly-looking charity shop, which didn’t instantly fill me with horror, so I chose to go into there, hoping desperately I would find exactly what I was looking for right away to save me any more trauma. Once inside I tugged my way through the clothes, inhaling the musky scent as I did. I kept glancing around, praying that no one would come over to talk to me, and for once, my luck must have been in, because I was left well alone.

I grabbed and examined a black jumpsuit, wondering if it would cover me up enough to be considered decent, before realising that it was much too large for my skinny frame. I hit me that it was going to be challenging for me to find something that actually suited me, that made me look anywhere nearly as good as Amy and her very fashionable friends. I didn’t have any curves or boobs to hold anything up, which was going to be a problem. I used to dress well, before, but then my friends used to rush around to help me because I was sick. I was still skinny—maybe a little less so than now—but I had a reason for it. No one was going to judge my outfit then, whereas now...

I pulled out my phone and searched ‘good outfit for skinny girl’ online, whilst my heart pounded furiously. I felt like such an i***t. At this age, I should have known a bit more about fashion, about what suited me, but I just had no idea. I hadn’t thought about it, I’d never needed to.

It was just another thing that was so much easier when I was dying.

All the best tips seemed to suggest a knee-length flare skirt, with kitten heels, a vest top and a jacket. That was an idea I would’ve never considered on my own, but the girl’s in the accompanying photographs looked good, and it wasn’t a dress so that was perfect. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for a dress. I didn’t think being too exposed would fill me with any confidence. I needed to fit in, but be comfortable too. That was important.

I thought back over my wardrobe at home, trying to remember what I’d seen when I looked through it before. I knew for certain that I had a black vest top and matching cropped jacket, so that saved me getting those. I hadn’t worn them for ages, but I was pretty sure they would still fit.

So that just left the skirt and the heels.

Heels...could I do heels?

I grabbed the three skirts that were in my size, and ambled awkwardly over to the counter, deciding to tackle that part of the outfit first.

“Do you have a changing room?” I shyly asked the awkward-looking man that was standing behind the till.

“I...uh...no.” He announced, confused, glancing around the room in surprise.

My heart sank as a heat consumed my body. How embarrassing! Was that an odd question? Was it common knowledge that there was nowhere to try stuff on in a charity shop?

The guy must’ve seen my humiliated expression because he continued, speaking far too quickly. “We have a stock room; I think there’s a mirror in there...” He trailed off, blushing furiously.

“That would be great.” It was nice not to be the only one that was struggling to hold a conversation. It made me feel a little more at home—relieved, in fact. I followed behind him, unable to think of anything to say to make either of us feel any better, but that was okay because he stayed silent too. It was painful, but I could cope with it because it wasn’t purely my fault.

“Here.” He indicated too wildly with his arms, to a dusty storage room, absolutely filled with crap. There was stuff everywhere, covering every surface. Not exactly the sleek, luxurious changing rooms I would have gotten at the high fashion store, but this would have to do.

I tiptoed inside, avoiding everything in my way, and finally spotted a cracked full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Sighing deeply, I span around to check that the door had been shut behind me, before tugging on the clothes.

The first skirt was bubble-style and managed to make me look like I was trying to be a teenager, and also pregnant at the same time. I whipped it off quickly, wanting to spend as little time in it as possible. It just made me feel sad. The second one was a deep red, swing skirt. I didn’t know why I picked it up really; I wasn’t sure that it would suit me. It was just one of the only ones out there in my size.

Just as I was pulling it over my buttocks, the door swung open, making me jump. A small squeal emanated from my throat as I practically tumbled to the ground in fright.

“Ooh, I am sorry dear.” An elderly, homely-looking woman chuckled at her mistake. “Mark just told me that there was someone in here. My memory is dreadful...ooh that does look lovely on you!” She exclaimed, finally taking the time to notice me. “Are you going to get it? I think it makes you look really smart.”

“Umm...” I replied, knowing that my cheeks were flaming red. “Yeah...” I blurted out, just trying to cover up my shame. I didn’t know what else to say, so I just stood there, slack-jawed until she left, and as soon as she did I changed back quicker than I’d ever moved before. I fully intended to just run out, to escape this all-out humiliating situation, but she grabbed me before I got the chance.

“I’ll give you a discount.” She winked at me. “Because I embarrassed you.”

***

At home, I finally got to have a look at myself in the full outfit. I couldn’t buy any heels—there was no way I was going in any other shops after all of that—but it didn’t really matter because actually I owned a pair of boots that went quite well.

I sighed deeply at the sight of myself, instantly zoning in on my long, dark hair which swung limply just past my shoulders, looking as scruffy as always. What the hell was I going to do with it when I went out later? It looked a bit lank when it was straightened, and curls never seemed to stay in. Maybe I would have to put it up into some sort of style?

Urgh, this was turning out to be more work than it was worth!

I scanned down to my face. My deep blue eyes were surrounded by black shadows and filled with a melancholy that I wasn’t sure I could disguise no matter what I did. My skin was pale, freckled and filled with patches of redness. The only good thing about my face was the dimples that showed up when I smiled—but I hadn’t seen them for a very long time.

It was going to take a lot of makeup to sort this mess out.

All of this had made me ugly. I was a plain Jane before I got sick, but now I was just an ugly person. It seemed to emanate from every pore, as if my face was screaming for an escape, just like my mind.

“Lara Rogers, you really are rubbish.” I whispered to myself. This thought should have made me feel sad, angry, upset, anything...but I was still just filled with numbness.

That numbness that I couldn’t escape from.