“Jesus! Why do you have to be such a fat cow?” My mother’s high-pitched voice echoed off the walls of the empty hallway. Her anger was masked by a thick layer of make-up, but after living with her for fourteen years, I didn’t need to see it to know she was red-faced beneath it all.
“I…I ca…I can fix it.” I stuttered, fumbling with the split zipper. Four inches of pale skin was exposed along the side of the skin-tight, mint green bridesmaid dress my mother had insisted on.
“If you didn’t eat everything in sight, there wouldn’t be anything to fix!” She squealed, exasperated.
At the age of fourteen, I was already five feet, four inches tall, well developed, and subsequently wore an adult size six. But according to my over-opinionated mother, anything larger than a size zero was unacceptable. When it came time to order the dress, she extended an olive branch and compromised with a size two and the demand that I cut weight before the wedding. That was three weeks ago and despite my every effort to shed the pounds, the dress was still too tight.
I tugged at the jammed zipper, making little progress. The underwire of my strapless bra was digging into my skin, my ribs ached from the constant constraint of the boning, and my head was pounding from the stress of the day. Four more hours and it would all be over. At least for another couple of years.
“You’re doing it wrong.” Mother-dearest shoved my hands away from the broken zipper, taking hold of the metal slider and yanking with too much force. The zipper dislodged and drug along my skin, leaving a thin line of bright red blood in its wake.
“I…I’m sor…sorry.” I apologized in a panic. The blood was beginning to seep into the green fabric.
“Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?” My mother huffed, staring at the growing red stain. “I don’t know why I even bother to involve you. You’re always such an embarrassment. Next time, you can just stay at home.”
“I…I’ll go… cl…clean this.” My escape to the bathroom was disrupted by heavy footfalls and a deep voice.
“Diana, our guests are waiting. Come back to the reception, before people start to wonder where you are.” Geoff, my mother’s new husband directed. “Magdalen, I’ve called a taxi to take you back to the house. You can wait outside until it arrives. Your mother needs time to calm down. She deserves to enjoy her special day without your drama.” He all but ignored the growing pool of blood along my side.
“Of course.” I shuffled away from the bathroom, using my hand to hide the stain in case one of the guests happened to wander by. The wind was cold against my bare skin, but any distraction from my current reality was welcome. The reality that stepfather number six was already failing to be any better than stepdads one through five.