Sick Like Me (Sick Like #1)

Chapter 11

ELEVEN

I wished I had more authority when it came to my best friends, I cursed myself as I sat in the back of Peyton’s car.

My eyes stared ahead at the back of the driver’s seat, my eyes daring to shoot holes into the back of Peyton’s head as Stefan was allowed free reign of the AUX lead. It was like he was punishing me for snapping at him in work the other day—which yes I deserved, but being tortured by his shit taste in music was taking it a step too far.

Stefan had called shotgun, which was no fair since I had known Peyton much longer than he ever had. If it wasn’t for me, the pair of them would never have met and become friends. I was being made to go shopping with them, I was forced to sit in the back of the car like some petulant child, and I was being tortured with endless Abba songs.

There were many other ways I could think of spending my day off work, and none of them were close to containing any of the events I was being subjected to.

“Come on, sing along,” Stefan held his phone to his mouth like a microphone, swaying his free hand back and forth in the air as he mumbled the words to the song. It was clear he didn’t really know the words, but he was enjoyed himself nonetheless. And surprisingly, Peyton joined in.

Meanwhile I sat in the back with my arms crossed, my eyes staring at the pair before me with temporary hatred. I could have put my earphones in and drown them out, but one, that felt rude. And two… It warmed my heart to see them happy.

Not that I would ever admit that to either of them. While sober, at least.

Peyton pulled up outside the clothing shop she and Stefan had chosen, and I felt the urge to run the other direction the second I stepped out of the car. She turned the engine off, my ears being saved from the bad, half arsed singing of Stefan.

As I looked at the store to my right, I thought one thing. I didn’t want to fucking be there.

I wanted to be far away in the comfort of my own home. I didn’t want to go to some fancy work event, I wanted to spend the night in bed with a good show on in the background. I didn’t want to go on stupid dates with Owen Greenwich, I wanted to blink and magically be married to the man I really wanted.

But I never got what I wanted half of the time. I had to make compromises in life, just as everyone else did. And if that meant spending one day to go dress shopping, and a further night in a few weeks time at a work event, then so be it.

I had intended to go shopping on my own closer to the event date, but would the pair ever let me have one single day of peace to myself? Never, apparently. The second Stefan told Peyton about the whole thing, she had made plans with him to take me shopping without even consulting me—the main person involved in the plan.

“Stop pouting,” Peyton warned, narrowing her eyes as she looked back at me in the rear view mirror. She used the same voice she would for Novie, and I hated it. I wasn’t some child she could tell what to do and what not to do. I was an adult who just wanted to be in the comfort of her own home .

Stefan got out of the car firstly and made his way around it to the pavement. Then Peyton got out of the car, Stefan handing her the bag he had been holding on his lap for her during the drive.

It was just me left in the car, and a part of me didn’t want to move.

“I’m not pouting,” I tried to defend myself through the door, to which Stefan pulled a face behind Peyton’s shoulder as if he was trying to mimic how my face looked at that moment. As if he was trying to prove I was indeed pouting.

I finally got out of the car, slamming the door a little harder than I intended. I flinched at the loud noise, then I smiled awkwardly at Peyton. “Sorry,” I mumbled, my hands reaching for the strap of my small satchel bag which sat over my left shoulder.

I sighed as I walked ahead of the pair into the store, not sparing either of them a second glance before I made my way to the far right corner away from prying eyes.

As I walked past displays and small sections of rails with varying hanging coloured dresses in varying sizes, I felt out of my depth. I wanted to leave, say I would order something online instead and just hope for the best.

But I knew both of them wouldn’t allow me such peace. The night before in our group chat, I was hounded by texts by them both saying that I need to try dresses on, as if I ordered one and it didn’t fit, they both knew I would just not attend.

Damn them both for knowing me so well.

As I got to the secluded area in the far corner, I noted that some of the dresses were very vivid in colour. They looked more prom dress style—not what I was looking for.

It didn’t stop me from reaching my hands out the second I reached a stack of dresses though, my fingers trailing over the different materials slowly.

I cringed as I felt the material range from silk, to a suede, to a tulle. I shook my head, pulling my hand back from the dresses .

“I think black is the safest option, then I could wear it again another time,” I stated when I heard their familiar footsteps approach me.

While I was dragged out against my own will, the least I could do was invest some attention into the activity.

“Good idea, we never have reason to go to fancy events so getting something you can wear more than once would be better to the bank,” Peyton sounded impressed, coming to stand beside me.

By the look on her face, I could tell she half expected me to remain pouting and angry the whole time we shopped. She made me sound childish sometimes. I guess I could be, but couldn’t everyone? Especially when you’re being forced to do something you would rather not be doing.

Stefan stood the other side of me with his hand to his chin as his eyes wandered over the scraps of material before him. He seemed to be pondering what may or may not look good, but I was unsure if it was for me, or his girlfriend who was a little disheartened that he didn’t invite her to the work event.

I knew there was a chance it wasn’t just me who was going to be leaving with a new dress. He would likely choose one for his girlfriend to make it up to her with hopes she would forgive him. I doubted she was actually mad he wasn’t inviting her to the event, but Stefan lived to make sure his girlfriend was happy at all times. I was half surprised he hadn’t asked her to marry him already.

Peyton reached around me and grabbed a dress on the smaller rail, picking it up to show a shorter style black dress which had one tiny strap for one of the shoulders, and a puffy skirt which looked horrendous. Not to mention it looked more of a dark dirty green in the light, rather than a black.

I must have pulled a face, to which Peyton let out a small sigh. But she kept the dress in her hands. I hoped she wasn’t considering buying one for herself, Will would for sure never take her out in such a mess of scrap that was being sold with the label of dress.

“God Peyton, we’re trying to make her hot for her finance boyfriend,” Stefan grabbed the dress from of her and shoved it back on the rail. “How else will we marry her off to the rich bachelor?”

“For the hundredth time, he is not my boyfriend,” I snapped, to which Stefan waved his hand dismissively. I knew he was never going to drop it, but I still tried to fight my argument anyway.

“Tomahto, tomayto,” He repeated the world’s second most annoying saying. The first being my father’s favourite. “If he ain’t your boyfriend, then you’ll have no complaints if we want to make you look hot for the new pool of potential men joining us at long last then, yes?”

I bit back a complaint, but I knew Stefan would take it the wrong way and once again defend Owen with his life—a man he had never met. I wasn’t going to show myself off as a potential partner to random men in the company, or the external hired company. I was going to show my department and company support, otherwise I knew Casey would never get off my back.

So instead of arguing with Stefan, I just forced a smile and nodded. “Go right ahead,” I said, but my tone didn’t quite match the faux cavalier attitude I was trying to display.

I turned away from the rack we were assessing, turning around to look at the ones behind us. My hands ghosted over the dresses again, but this time they all felt soft and luxe. They looked much more elegant than the last set I looked through.

I even dared to part the dresses, my eyes skimming quickly over each one before I found them land on a long sleeved black dress. My hand ran down the sleeve, and while I hated the feeling of the lace, the dress looked appropriate for the work event and still looked like it had a good wearability chance.

I reached around the dress for the hanger, then carefully pulled it from the rack. I held the dress up, and found it was floor length to accompany the long sleeves.

The dress was all black and looked mostly fitted, but flowed out slightly at the bottom. The dress seemed to be designed to look as if it was cut off at the shoulders before it went into the long lace sleeves, the detail intricate and sheer.

“Wow, not too shabby. A little Morticia Addams for my taste, but looks right up your street,” Stefan attempted a compliment. “You should try it on, we can make it a little runway show.”

I laughed at the idea. But he wasn’t wrong, I most definitely should try the dress on. I didn’t want the same mistake from a few weeks ago to happen, where I had bought a new black dress for a funeral just for it to not fit and I had to wear a turtle neck and black trousers.

I knew when I went into the store they would make me try on clothes, and so I hoped this dress would be the perfect one for me to land on without much further debate at the rest of the store. I hated trying on clothes as much as I hated shopping, and so if this one looked at least good enough on me, then I wouldn’t even bother trying to look at alternative ones. I would just settle for this dress.

So I silently turned and looked up at the ceiling, finding hand painted signs that pointed to the dressing rooms. I followed the signs, and at first Peyton and Stefan followed in surprise. But once they realised where I was going, they stopped following me and instead found home on the cream armchairs near the entrance of the dressing room.

I walked down a wide hallway with floor lights, the walls getting darker as I moved further. Then the space opened to the left with several cubicles, red curtains pushed to the left side of each one to show which ones were available to use.

I walked a little down the space, choosing a single cubicle in the middle. I walked inside, then I closed the curtain tight behind me, even stopping to make sure there was no peaking possible by just walking by.

Once I was sure I was successfully hidden in the room out of any prying eyes, I turned to my right and noticed some hooks, so I placed the dress on one before I turned my back to the curtain. My thought process was that if anyone walked in, the worst they would see would be my back and my knickers.

But as I came to a stop, I found there was a mirror secure to the wall, showing me the view of myself perfectly.

I felt self conscious, seeing myself so up close, and so I turned away from the mirror to the left, facing the dark red painted wall.

I sucked in a breath as I grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and pulled it off, then I messily lay it on the small black leather stood beside me tucked neat into the corner of the tiny room. I then kicked my ankle boots off before I reached down and pushed my leggings down my legs.

I stood feeling bare and vulnerable in the small room for a second. I didn’t want to put the dress on and show them. What if it looked ugly and they laughed at me? Or what if they told me it looked good, but it actually looked terrible and they just didn’t know how to say the brutal truth?

I had to push the thoughts aside, my friends were always for the truth, even if it was harsh. So I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes as I turned around so I wouldn’t have to see my reflection.

My hands carefully turned the dress around on the hook to reveal it’s back to me, where I then unzipped it to free it from the hanger. I then carefully picked the dress up from it and lowered it towards the floor. I stepped carefully into it before I lifted the material up.

I almost thought it was going to be too tight to go past my thighs and arse, but thankfully it glided past both freely without so much as a catch. I let out a small breath at that and found a small smile on my lips.

I then pulled the dress up high enough for me to slip my arms into each one. I tried to reach behind me to pull the zip up, but I couldn’t quite reach it with the way the sleeves hugged my arms.

I held the front of the dress onto my body with dear life, then I walked out of the dressing room back down the small hallway to the small lounging area.

I was careful as I walked terrified I would somehow trip on the bottom of the dress and fall right onto my fucking face. Or worse, rip the dress. Then I would have to buy it regardless, and I had no clue how to sew so I would be left with a broken dress.

As I neared the small waiting area, my friends at first were too absorbed in their phones and chatting animatedly at something. But then Peyton seemed to notice me from her peripheral and lowered her phone as her eyes sought me out. Her lips parted, her eyes travelling up and down.

It made me even more self conscious. Fuck you, Peyton.

Seemingly realising she had been staring at me for a few seconds too long, Peyton finally jumped from her seat and wordlessly made her way to me. She grabbed my shoulders and gently turned me to face away from her before I felt her cold, slender fingers brush against my back.

She grabbed the tiny zip and pulled it up, the material feeling warm as it finally covered the rest of my body.

Once the dress was on securely, Peyton took a step back and nodded her head. I let my hands fall, feeling relief when the dress stayed up on its own. I knew my bra straps were likely on full display, but that would be something I would need to sort out at a later day. I was not going bra shopping with the pair also. That was something I wanted to do alone.

Peyton made her way back to her chair beside Stefan, whose lips were slightly parted as his attention was finally on me—something I wished I didn’t have. “Wow, you look great in that. ”

“Imagine how much hotter she’ll look when she gets her hair and makeup done professionally with it too,” Peyton smiled, and I knew she was likely already planning the dates to book them for me.

I rolled my eyes, not trusting my friends and their judgement. “It’s just a dress guys,” I stated, but then I moved to the small red carpet that was laid out over a platform in front of a mirror.

I stood up on the platform and turned to the mirror, finally looking at my own reflection.

I was surprised to find that they were right. My skin, while naturally pale, didn’t look washed out by the black dress. My blonde messy ponytail for sure was not going to be the vision for the night, but the dress made my hair look even brighter than usual I noted.

I saw my cheeks turn red, and so I forced my body away from the mirror to face Stefan and Peyton once again.

I saw a flash to my left and turned my head to face Stefan with my phone in his hands. I raised an eyebrow, but then placed a hand on my hip as I jutted it out slightly, playfully posing. Stefan let out a small chuckle, but took another photo.

“I think I’ll buy this, why bother trying on a ton of shit when I like this one just fine,” I said, stepping off the platform.

Really, I just fucking hated shopping. I wanted to go for the food they promised me, and so the sooner I chose a dress, the sooner we could be tucking into a plate of margarita pizza.

I walked to Stefan and took my phone off him, wanting to check my messages to make sure he hadn’t sent anything inappropriate to the wrong person.

“You’d be stupid to choose another dress,” Stefan called after me as I turned and made my way back to the dressing room. “You look smoking hot in that one and Owen and all the other pool of men will be eye fucking you!” I heard his voice get louder the further I got away.

I felt a smile tug at my lips at his words, then I heard a dull thud before he complained. I assumed Peyton had hit him for swearing out loud like that in public.

I was thankful for my friends, despite how irritating they could be sometimes. At least they knew a good shop when they saw one.

I reached behind my back, and this time I managed to grab the zip just fine as I pulled it down. I then pulled the dress down and stepped out of it before I out it back on it’s home, the hanger.

I closed the back of the dress to secure it, then I grabbed my clothed off the stool. I sat down on it, in all my underwear glory, and finally unlocked my phone.

I opened my usual messaging app and my lips parted when I found Owen at the top of my messages, a green bubble by his name to show he had replied. I clicked the message, finding Stefan had sent a selfie of himself and Peyton with a small introduction about themselves. I then saw the photos he took of me in my dress.

Owen: You’re right, she looks amazing in that dress.

I typed back a quick response that I was sorry my friends had bugged him and closed off the chat. I noted my chat with Kota sat waiting. He hadn’t responded in several days, and I had no clue if he had even read my messages. He had his settings to not show when he was active, or when he had read a message. It was infuriating.

I accepted it as him ghosting me, despite knowing in the night I would likely drink one too many glasses of wine and choose to text him again, doing anything to get his attention for just a second.

I guess I was addicted again. I was addicted to the way he could control me even over messages. I was addicted to the feeling of his attention, and I was addicted to chasing it.

I was Kota Vernon addicted again. And this time, no rehab was going to fucking help.