Stacy
Shopping Therapy. It has never failed me before.
I am still at the mall, walking around and burning holes through my bank account just to bury the unreasonable pain in my heart.
A helpful shop assistant, who with her glossy chestnut ponytail and golden limbs looked like she should actually be modeling the clothes rather than selling them, led me around the boutique and in moments I was on my way to the dressing room with an armful of gorgeous frocks.
The best part about Retail Therapy is: I'm free to splurge on whatever I wanted (up to a point). Ever since I was thirteen years old, I've been earning money from altering and designing clothes for my friends, schoolmates who didn't hate me, and neighbors. Word of my talent spread around town like wildfire, and soon, I was hired to be a fashion consultant and eventually, a part-time model.
Inside one of the fitting rooms, I removed my denim jacket, white sundress, and brown boots, my pink headband clinking to the cushioned stool in the act of stripping down to my underwear.
An excited squeal escaped me as my sky blue eyes landed on the pile of colorful garments:
There was a black, spaghetti-strap full length number, a white, round-neck skater-style dress, a rose-pink Grecian gown, and a very promising apple-red strapless cocktail gown. I stuck my hand through the sparkling mess of silk, cotton, and chiffon fabrics and randomly fished out a sexy night-colored body-con dress.
I shimmied into it with ease. I pushed my wavy blonde hair over my bare shoulders,then I turned to face the wall-to-ceiling mirror which occupied one whole wall of my fitting room.
"How are you doing in there, Miss Stacy?" asked the kind saleslady from outside the fitting stall.
I called out in response: "I'm trying on the black body-con."
"How does it look?" she asked.
Pretty damn good, I thought. The black material softly caressed my slim curves. I swiveled left and right, marveling at how perfectly the outfit suited me. The black, off-shoulder dress revealed my bare shoulders and collarbone. The skirt's hem was cut above my knees. It looked simple and elegant. Alluring but not showing too much skin to be labeled as provocative.
"May I see you in the dress?"
I pushed open the white door of the fitting stall and presented myself to the saleslady.
"You look wonderful, Miss Stacy."
I know. "Thank you," I modestly told her.
Not wanting to waste too much of my savings, I drew the line after trying on two casual dresses, three semi-casual gowns, one tiered top, one pair of jeans, and two pairs of shoes.
I approached the counter with my haul, then I handed over my credit card to the cashier. While she dutifully scanned my items, I saw another stunning blouse on a mannequin. It was a plain gray wrap blouse with a conservative v-neck and short angel sleeves.
The saleslady who helped me earlier caught me staring at the gray top.
I smiled at her. "Miss, does this come in a different color?" I pointed at the blouse on the mannequin.
"Yes, ma'am.This way, please." She guided me to a rack of clothes and I was able to select the same blouse in a different color--Robin's egg-blue.
I was surrendering the light blue top to the cashier when, to my shock, I saw Bryce standing outside the store!
What the hell was he doing here? Was he following me?
I stole a glance over my shoulder. Brown hair. Red shirt. It was literally him lurking like a creep.
The cashier put the receipt on the counter and slid it towards me. I quickly signed it, and she returned my credit card along with my four orange paper bags containing shoes and dresses.
"Thank you," I said, and I turned to leave when suddenly--
"Stacy?" It was Bryce's voice.
Shit! What do I do? Pretend I didn't hear? Or bolt? Ah-h-h-h-h!!!
"Stacy, I need to talk to you." I stiffened when his voice grew clearer.
Before he could get any closer,I dashed past him and ran as fast as my feet could take me.
"What the--STACY!"
My legs were long and though I was wearing two-inch heeled brown boots,I was used to them.
I didn't know where to go but I didn't care. I just didn't want to talk to him after what happened.
By the time I reached the underground parking lot, I was huffing and puffing and breathless.
I dropped my shopping bags on the ground before folding my arms on the roof of a black car. It took me a second to recognize it as a 2016 Chevrolet model. I was kind of a car-junkie.
"Ah!" I cried out when the car alarms blared, the intense noise permeating the hot air.
Startled beyond belief, I pulled away from the black roof, but seconds later, the noise stopped.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't manhandle my ride."
A tall brown-haired 18-year old male strode towards me. His dark blue eyes were serious, his red polo shirt was crease-free, and his left hand was inside his pocket while the other hand aimed a small remote control at the black, sophisticated vehicle.
I hurriedly picked up my four paper bags and made to sprint when Bryce blocked my path.
Standing at six-four, he towered over my five-eleven. Despite my model-height, he was still taller.
"Why did you run?" Bryce asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at me.
I lifted my chin to flash him a sarcastic smile. "I didn't want to speak with you. Happy?"
If I hadn't known any better, I think he was genuinely crestfallen. "Stacy."
"What?" My sky blue eyes narrowed at him.
He unfolded him arms and regarded me seriously. "I want to.."
"Spit it out, Bryce."
A flash of irritation registered in his face. "Must you be such a brat?"
"Wow. I'm so flattered." I shot him a wry smile. "Is that it? Can I go now?"
"I want to apologize for Heather's behavior," he said in a rush.
Tilting my head to one side, I squinted at him. "Apology not accepted."
"What?" he asked, flummoxed. The idiot actually thought I was going to let bygones be bygones?
I scowled at Bryce. "If anyone is going to beg for my forgiveness, it's her, not you."
"She's never going to say sorry to you," he informed me.
I feigned disappointment. "Tough. It seems like you do care about that conniving harpy. I guess it's true you once went out with her. Why else would you try to apologize on her behalf?"
Bryce opened his mouth, but clamped it shut again.
"What?" I sneered at him. "Don't tell me you care about me? That you're worried I was hurt?"
His deep blue eyes traveled down to the gravelly floor, where my bags from my comfort shopping were quietly perched.
"I didn't buy those because I was upset," I angrily told him. "Don't be so assuming!"
Bryce raised both his palms in mock surrender.His smile was crooked as he taunted me:
"I wasn't saying anything, pink headband.. why are you so defensive?" His eyes gleamed. "Did it ever occur to you, for at least one nanosecond, that I felt guilty about Heather's prank?"
"No!" My hand flew to my mouth. My face was bright and my voice was merciless.
"Stacy, just listen to me, will you?"
"I refuse to pay heed to whatever you say, De Los Reyes. I've met enough guys like you."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded as he messed up his brown hair.
I put one hand on my hip and pointed at him using my free hand. "Playing the innocent won't work on me, De Los Reyes. I've come across a lot of guys who have done nothing but feed me bullshit. I've heard about the bet you agreed to in high school. The 'Alpha-Bet'?" I air-quoted the last word to emphasize my fury.
Bryce stared at me, wide-eyed. But all too soon, his face closed down like a gate slamming shut.
"Guys like you," I repeated. "You treat girls like toys--objects you can play with when you're bored. You purposefully forget that we have feelings. That we don't deserve to be broken. No one deserves to be fooled around with. Abandoned. Forgotten." My voice wavered, but I stood firm.
I hugged my arms to keep them from trembling. I looked down at the ground. "Bryce.. we're barely friends but I'm going to tell you this just once, so pay attention: When I was sixteen, I lost my virginity to Walter. A few days later, I caught him cheating on me, so I dumped him. The asshole then began a rumor that he was the one who broke up with me because he found out I was sleeping with three more guys behind his back."
"Everyone in school believed him. He held that kind of power over people." I rubbed my face and continued. "All the girls hated me even more while all the guys took interest in me. It was too late. I knew they were only after the same thing. But I dated them anyway, because I wanted to prove myself wrong. That one guy would love me for me. Not my body. But he didn't exist. I at least hoped you wouldn't be one of them, Bryce." I looked up at him, and our eyes locked.
The tall 18-year old studied my stony expression. My sky blue eyes had turned dim and empty.
"You think you know everything," he said, fixing me with a tight, fake smile. "I would have thought you, of all people, could understand what I go through. Stacy, I don't deserve to be broken either. I can't stand being played.. fooled.. abandoned. You think guys are the only ones who spout bullshit? Guess what? Over the years, I've had girlfriends lie to me, trick me, deceive me. They didn't like me for me. They were after my looks or money."
Bryce took a step towards me and cupped my chin between his fingers, raising my head to meet his tormented smile.
"I have my walls. You have your barriers," he told me. "Neither of us is going to break through the other any time soon. You're my brother's girlfriend.Oh,wait." His eyes darkened. "I almost forgot. You're his pretend-girlfriend. You've accused me of playing with girls and their feelings when you yourself have been spending half the year lying to your own sister. But the difference is: I have proof of your crimes. You simply elected to believe in even more bullshit."
He retracted his fingers from my chin, releasing my perturbed face.
"I never agreed to the bet." His voice was cold and unyielding. "I never received any prize cash either. You know the comical thing about gossip? Practically nothing is true. It was merely coincidence that I dated twenty-six girls whose names completed the alphabet. Let me know when you're ready to apologize," Bryce said, giving my shoulder a pat before getting inside his black car and pulling out of the parking lot, and onto the streets.
You screwed up, Sta. Ana.