Page 51 of Scream For Me
“But also… lighter?” she adds.
The shrill sound of the timer on Harper’s phone cuts our conversation dead.
“No way, that was five minutes max!” Harper shoos me out of the way of the tub.
“I’m going to make us more coffee,” I say as she pulls the shower head from the wall.
Laughing to myself, I quickly flip the vinyl and set it playing before I make my way through my apartment to the kitchen. The sound of the doorbell makes me jump.
I freeze. My doorbell almost never rings. Harper knows the code for the building, and most of my deliveries get dumped in the communal foyer. For a moment, I wonder if someone has hit the wrong apartment—it wouldn’t be the first time. Still, the uneasy feeling in my chest refuses to settle.
I quickly throw coffee beans into the machine and turn it on. Harper will never forgive me if I forget to make coffee.
Behind me, I can hear the faint rush of the showerhead as Harper rinses her hair, humming along to the music that’s playing from my bedroom. I tread carefully towards the door and peer through the peephole, finding the area empty, except for a white box. The unease in my chest reaches a new high as I carefully unlock the bolts.
Everything in my head screams at me to throw this box out. I stand there for a long moment, staring down at it. The cardboard is pristine, not a dent or crease anywhere along the surface. Whoever delivered this handled it carefully. The thought only makes the unease knot tighter in my stomach. Packages usually arrive with shipping labels and half-peeled tape, looking like they’d been through a woodchipper. This one is completely bare: just a white box with a black outline around the edges. I press my thumb against the edge of the lid. Curiosity has always been my worst habit.
I open it carefully, and a small card sits on top of a pile of black fabric, tied neatly with a red bow. My hands start to shake.
Kat,
I’m sorry for my absence over the last week. I had business that, unfortunately, demanded my attention. Please don’t mistake my unavailability for disinterest. I am very much looking forward to seeing you again soon.
I saw this and thought of you. I hope you’ll wear it for me sometime.
Yours,
E x
My lips part as my mouth turns dry.
Elias.
My hands tremble harder as I pull out the contents of the box. Holding it up, it’s clear that this is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. It’s a long black lace dress, the shade of nightitself. It has elegant sleeves, and a sweetheart neckline that dips gracefully in the center. Each side has a slit as high as my hips.
I’ve never worn anything like this before. It’s far fancier than anything I’ve ever owned, or even seen in a store. A quick look at the label, which is entirely in French, tells me it was expensive.
With a smile, I bring the dress inside.
I know exactly where to wear it.
Twenty-Two
Kat
Rev 22:20 - Puscifier
The dressing room smells as it always does: cigarette smoke and hairspray. My bandmates buzz around in various stages of readiness, and there’s a certain energy in the air, one that I always find addicting.
The room is small for four people and their gear. Cables snake across the floor, empty water bottles and crumpled set-lists litter the table beneath the mirrors. Now that we’ve been playing at Headstone for a few weeks, my pre-show nerves have dissipated. Each show seems bigger than the last and I’m fucking loving it.
We’ve racked up a small amount of savings in these last few weeks, and Ryland finally agreed to let us each have some for ourselves. It was only a hundred bucks, but that bought me a new vinyl that’s been on repeat ever since.
Luca picks a few notes in the corner as Ryland flexes his wrists and Harper sounds out some vocal warmups. I’ve learned to love these moments. The moments before everything begins.
The Hollywood mirror is so bright it hurts to look at, but I stand in front of it anyway, studying my reflection. The dress clings to me in a strange way. Not too tight, not too loose. It was almost as if someone had made it specifically for me. Istand back, tugging at the fabric over my hips. The slits are so high I couldn’t wear panties. I’m suddenly incredibly thankful that I’m a guitarist and my instrument will cover any slips. The sweetheart neckline dips low enough to show my favorite asset, but not too low to give everyone in the front row a free show. What I didn’t notice until I put it on was the small cutout around my belly. Looking at it in the mirror now, dread creeps up my spine, but I push it aside.
There’s only one person I’m wearing this for tonight.
