INKED LINES // H.S.

Chapter 2

"Being able to walk pain-free is a blessing. Being able to walk without showing the pain is a skill."

- Kylie McPherson

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The prickle of sweat on the back of my neck begins to catch the strands of my hair and I shift my neck uncomfortably. Bending down, I grab one of the bags that lay scattered on the ground and place it onto the bed Mila said was mine. Rummaging through the contents, I pull out a much-needed change of clothes and a blue and white patterned swimsuit.

I turn back around to Mila holding the one-piece up to examine it.

Her eyes give a quick once over to the suit, disapproval flashing on her face.

"You should wear this one," she interjects, swivelling around to fetch something from the crammed shelves of clothes behind her. She turns back around and holds out a black bikini, the straps of the material looking dangerously thin.

I glance at it hesitantly, noticing the tag still hanging off it. I see her roll her eyes before she stuffs it into my hands.

"C'mon," she encourages. "It'll look good on you!"

Noticing my apprehension she adds, "I bought it for you, at least give it a try. "

Ever since we were young, her sense of fashion was much different to mine. Probably why she landed a job in the fashion field.

Before I can respond, she's walking out of the room, yelling a quick, "I'll meet you outside!" before closing the door behind her.

I shake my head slightly at her but start to change, nonetheless. After chucking the clothes I'm wearing in a pile next to my bed, I slip the bikini on, taking the time to tightly tie up the straps of the top around my head and back.

Stepping in front of the mirror, I examine my appearance. The bikini does fit me surprisingly well, the triangle shape of the top accentuating the curves of my breasts making them look way perkier than they actually are. I don't usually wear something like this, fearing my large bust won't correspond well to the small triangle shapes of the top. Short and curvy doesn't really work well together and I don't like to emphasize that fact. But I'm pleasantly surprised by my reflection.

Mila always knows best.

Swivelling around, I glimpse the back of the bikini or lack thereof. The back of the bottoms only covers about a third of the area. I groan slightly.

"Great Mila," I murmur sarcastically.

My eyes travel to the small stretch marks that line either side of my outer thighs, a small bubble of insecurity developing in my stomach.

I reach over and quickly pull the denim shorts over my legs, fastening the button and hiding my insecurities. I follow with a white T-shirt over my head, tucking the hem of the shirt into my shorts and pulling the front up to sit above my breasts.

Stepping closer to the mirror I inspect my face, swiping a finger underneath my eyes noticing the sweat beads forming there. My eyes look a darker blue than they usually do as they reflect at me, my lashes still smeared with mascara from this morning. I wipe my hands over the freckles on my cheekbones, feeling the warmth of my cheeks. I quickly moisten my lips with a quick dart of my tongue to hide their dryness. I run my hands through the mess of brown curls, loosening the strands from their glued position on my neck.

I can't believe how hot it is here. I'm used to air-conditioning.

With one last glance in the mirror and a deep breath, I turn and make my way back outside.