Icarus | Z.M.

11 | Dress

Victoria Tomlinson

Red.

A red silk dress.

It sat tighter on my waist and loose at my hips, hugging my body in all the right places. It was soft and shimmered under the lights of the wardrobe as I stared into the mirror. Each time I moved my body, it seemed a different curve would be highlighted.

I felt pretty in the silk dress, one my dad had made especially for me. He liked to do that. For every dinner we would have as a family, I would get a new dress made just for me, to fit my body perfectly. It was the only thing I really liked about the dinners, getting a new pretty dress so I could play dress up.

It fit my body like a glove, smooth in all the right places and tight only in the places it should be. It enhanced the little shape I had, my body wasn't exactly curvy, but I really felt like a model about to walk a runway in this dress.

I'd had my makeup done earlier, dark smokey eyes, eyeliner. Thick eyelashes to make my eyes dark and bold. The rest of my face was pretty simple, not too much makeup besides the dark red lipstick that matched the dress perfectly. My nails were done to match too, long, sharp. Dark. Everything was always so dark. Sultry.

I stared at myself in the floor length mirror in front of me, smoothing my hands down the front.

There was the sound of a sniff behind me.

I looked in the mirror to see my mum standing behind me, holding her glass of red wine as she leaned against the doorway to my walk-in wardrobe. Her bottom lip was quivering but she was trying to hide it by covering her face with her hand.

"Mum?" I furrowed my eyebrows and turned around to face her, instead of looking at her through the mirror, "Are you crying?"

She was drunk again.

She shook her head, and her voice raised an octave higher than usual when she spoke, her hand still covering her face, "No."

"Mum?" I took a step towards her, a bit concerned over the fact she was crying.

"I'm sorry,"  She shook her head again and stood up off of where she was leaning against the doorway. She pulled her hand away from her face, showing her bloodshot and welled-up eyes. She looked me up and down, a proud expression on her face, "You're just— you're so grown up now and... you've got your mothers looks,"

She stood in front of me, her eyes bright red and her eyelashes fluttering like she was trying to blink away the tears. Her hands ghosted up and down my arms, barely touching my skin. She looked me up and down again.

"And you're so big now and you're grown up," Her eyes met mine, I could hear the shakiness in her voice, "And you're going to be married one day with little kiddies of your own and I won't have my daughter anymore."

That last sentence seemed to set her off, because she let out a cry from the back of her throat and turned her head away from me, covering her mouth with her hand like she was trying to cover up her cries.

"Jesus," I breathed out, a bit confused over the situation.

But I pulled my mum into a hug and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, not knowing what else to do. She had never cried over me growing up, except on my eighteenth birthday, I had no idea where this was coming from.

She hugged me back, still with the glass of wine perched between her fingers, she was careful to hold it upright. She rested her forehead on my shoulder and let out weird muffled whimpers.

"God this mascara cost more than this wine," She pulled back and tilted her head up, trying to keep the tears in her eyes instead of letting them fall down her cheeks, "I cant smudge it,"