Page 3 of Little Broken Pieces
“Ha-ha. Very funny. Keep looking for your damn outfit and leave me alone. As a matter of fact, I’m gonna go to the side of the store for people with no soul and you stay here in bubblegum pink fairytale land, k? K.”
She sighs in defeat because she knows I never stop talking shit back and she loves me enough to let me win. I walk over to the dresses, short black and skintight. That’s what I’m looking for. I can’t wear anything that doesn’t cling to every curve of my body. I get stared at hard and not just by men. It's mostly women looking at me like I’m trying to steal their man. That would never happen, girl code and all.
I am 5’1 and not as blessed as my gorgeous best friend. Listen, I know I’m a bad bitch who is also madly confident, but I am snack-size. I am extra curvy, and I have a handful of tits and ass. I may be short, but my legs are long for my height, and my dark hair falls past my waist in loose curls. I am thick everywhere it counts, and I’m reminded every time some asshole tries to hit on me. It's so hard to know who is really trying to get to know me, and who just wants in my pants. I can't remember a time when my body didn’t place me in the center of attention, even as a kid. Guys always thought I was older, and that put me in several uncomfortable situations. I guess it doesn’t help that I never dressed my age either, but that shouldn't mean I'm up for grabs.
My mom never cared and always told me I was asking for attention. Maybe I was but, not from any man. She was fine as long as she had her quiet time. That meant me being gone, and her in a dark room feeling like she was floating on cloud nine. I hate her. I look nothing like her, thank God. She always made fun of my figure. In her opinion, my thighs and butt were too thick and my breasts too big. I needed to lose weight so I could be thin like her. No, thank you. As perfect as she looked, she was damaged and broken inside, never capable of loving anyone as much as she pretended to love herself. Wait, I'm wrong. Let me correct myself. She never loved anyone or anything as much as her drugs.
Aside from the differences in body type, Cora and I typically end up on opposite sides of the store because our styles are so different. Black is my signature color. Cora always jokes about how it matches my soul, and she isn’t wrong. Her signature color is pink and she loves every shade, although now that we are in college, I have noticed her trying to tame it down with more nude tones. Her soul will always be bubblegum pink, though.
Cora is the sunshine to my dark cloud. If you placed us next to each other, no one would believe we are best friends. Different esthetics, styles, and personalities. The only similarity we seem to have is an unconditional love for each other. A love that has been a light in the darkness that was our childhood. We grew up on different sides of the tracks but were equally neglected and lonely.
Our moms were best friends. Also from different worlds, the same small town, doing all the same shit that every generation did before them. They never outgrew it, so because of them we vowed to leave and make something of ourselves. We promised that we would be the only family we ever needed. My mom gave up her inheritance for my father, a lowlife good-for-nothing drug dealer. I thought she had sealed my fate, but my grandparents saved me. I was given her inheritance and mine. I don’t live like I have it, though. I grew up with nothing so it's hard to allow myself to feel safe with it. I feel like the rug can be pulled out from under me at any time. I only use it to pay for school and necessities.
My grandparents passed away a while back. I didn't even get to meet the people who saved me. Their lawyer contacted me when I enrolled in college. It was the shock of a lifetime. I was already accepted because, despite my reckless behavior, my grades were on point. I had a partial scholarship and used financial aid for the rest. I am so thankful to my dance teacher. She paid my application fee because she believed in my dreams. “Your talent will take you places, Alex,” she always said.
I was so deep in my thoughts, I didn’t see that Cora was waiting next to me. We have this tradition of not going into the dressing room unless we are together and we can’t check out unless both of us find outfits. She is studying me with sad eyes and I roll mine at her.
“What, Cora?” The tone of my voice matches my annoyance.
“What were you thinking about?” Concern laces her tone.
“Nothing,” I say, trying to send her vibes that I don’t want to talk about it.
“Your mom, then. Figures.” She places her hands on her lap, waiting for my response.
How does she even know? “Are you a psychic?”
She giggles. “Because I knowyou,best friend, and I know that look. Your mom was on your brain.”
“Ugh, fine. She was, but not just my mom. I was thinking about us and where we came from.” I look away from her so she doesn’t see the tears welling in my eyes as I force them away.
“Enough of that,” I say before she can respond. She doesn’t push. She knows I don’t like talking about it.
“Okay, but hurry up. I want to try this on. It’s getting late.” I’m glad for the quick subject change she makes.
I grab two black dresses I was checking out from the rack to try on. They are exactly the same, but depending on how short it is, I may need an extra large instead of a large. Cora is much more modest than me and will definitely have a heart attack if my ass pops out of the bottom. I want tonight to be perfect for both of us and don't want to cause any unnecessary waves so I’ll try to cover up.
“See, I’m getting one that won’t show my ass. I'm not that much of a selfish bitch," I say, smiling at her as I walk into the fitting room she’s in.
“Oh, you're so kind, Alex. Thank you for not showing your vagina to the world." Her teasing tone makes me happy. I love when we roast each other.
I laugh at the fact she whispersvaginalike it’s illegal to say when we are adults.
“I thought you would appreciate that. Also, I will wear underwear this time." I wink at her and she smiles.
“You should always wear underwear, Alex,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I hate underwear. The only time I regretted not wearing any was when I wore a mini skirt to class the first day and fell flat on my face in front of everyone. I'm sure the hot professor got a nice show, though. Hopefully, I get an A plus because math isn't my strong suit.
I try on the Large dress first and I love it. It's a mini dress, skintight with a sweetheart neckline. Thank God it doesn't run small and is the perfect length. Cora won't kill me. We all win. I can picture the heels I'm going to wear with them. My ex bought them for my birthday last year. They are shiny black square-toe pumps that wrap up around my ankle and up to my calf and tie in the back. Sooo sexy.
As I check myself out in the mirror, I notice Cora staring, too.
"Damn, Alex. That dress looks amazing on you and it's the perfect length".
“I know, right?" I respond, looking myself up and down in the mirror.
“A ‘thank you’ would be nice before your head gets too big." We laugh in unison, she knows me well.