𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

It Isn't True

What's mine is yours and yours to keep

No matter what you do,

All that I own was only ever mine

To give to you

—————

A familiar red door sat before my eyes. And who could forget the windows to match. It almost felt haunting, seeing it again like that. I realised that I had been standing there for quite a while as people passed behind me in a constant stream of commutes and errands.

I kept trying to convince myself that it would be alright, that there was nothing to be worried about. I could be professional, and I was sure that she could as well. All I needed to do was go in, collect the dress, and then leave. Nothing more, nothing less. And besides, it had been months since it happened. I could do this.

So I climbed the steps, all three of them, my pulse quickening with every move, and pushed against the door. Dangling bells chimed above my head, ringing in my ears before they settled and the door shut itself behind me. A recognizable voice shouted a greeting at me from the other room. I willed myself to answer back, but just couldn't.

The room felt larger than it had a few months ago, but then again, I might not remember it too well. I knew it was a cowardly thing to do, but I'd made great efforts to avoid that particular trip. A lot of the other girls at the manor were more than willing to trade a few of their chores for a day on the town, so I passed them on.

I had been staring at one of the mannequins when Mrs. Carney first appeared behind the counter, a grand smile splayed on her face as always. I hated the way it faltered when she realised who I was.

"Florence!" She said. "What a surprise."

All I could do was smile in return, not knowing what to say. I suppose her surprise was well founded, seeing as I'd avoided the store at all costs since Christmas. It took me a while, but I managed to blurt a "Hello", only it came out all wrong. It sounded worried, distressed, wobbly in the center and high-pitched on either end. Far from the calm and composed image I was attempting to project.

I'd convinced myself that if I acted like nothing was wrong, like nothing had ever happened, then that would become the truth. It was ridiculous, I know that now, but at the time it was comforting, and that's all I cared about. What followed was silence, only mildly uncomfortable, but I was still relieved when she decided to end it by saying,

"I'll go get the dress." She looked at me with sympathy as she said it. But I was too focused on the feeling of my teeth grinding against each other to dwell on her tone.

"I don't resent you."

My eyes snapped away from the floating specs of dust I had been watching quietly by one of the windows. I twisted my body around to look at her, but she wasn't looking back at me. Her hands were still busy folding the dress and packing it into the flat white box on the counter top.

"He never told me what had happened, or why it ended." She said, frowning to herself. "No matter how many times I might've asked."

She shook her head, chuckling subtly. The way she spoke about it- all of it- calmed me. As if she was reflecting on some distant memory that at the time of its passing caused pain, but was now nothing more than an anecdote to utilize if she ever found herself in labored small talk.

"I never did get it out of him."

I noticed her face fall, she must have been so confused, so lost on it all. But I wasn't going to be the one to tell her, not now, not ever. All I could do was offer her a sorry smile and hope that it was sufficient.