“Sorry” they say.

“Won’t do it again”

Why do they lie? Why do they trick me?

Why am I not worthy of a simple apology.

Why can’t I be popular?

Everyone else was transforming. Growing. Changing into who they were meant to be. Me? I was stuck. A caterpillar that never learned to spin a cocoon. I wanted to change so badly. I wanted to be anyone but myself.

And then I found the dress.

It was at the auction. A man, in his fifties, mind you. A crisp black suit, white cuffs, Ink black shoes.

Poison ivy smile.

The dress was bloody. Bloody red. “You want it?”

Yes. Yes I do. But…“It was expensive though. Don’t you need it?”

He didn’t. No words were spoken. He outstretched his arm, and I took it. I noticed he had a missing thumb.

Not my problem.

The dress was beautiful. Dark and beautiful.

I went back to the dorm that night.

And I tried it on.

So well it had fit, My body defined by the material. In the mirror over my bathroom sink, I know. The dress was made for me.

And so I plan. On Friday night, there was a party. And I was going to wreck it.

Friday came. I did my hair, wore my red heels. My lips matched the dress perfectly. Eyeshadow? Done and dusted with glitter. An Uber arrived outside and off I went to the party.

The doors opened and I walked in like a queen. Everyone stared. There was Not a single eye that wasn’t on me. People who hurt me, who looked down on me were there. David, Alice. Even Aery.

I smile.

Who’s the loser now?

Aery approaches me. He puts his hand in his pocket. Flashes his charming teeth. “Hey there gorgeous.” Has he no shame? After all he did to me. All the lies. All the excuses.

The dress seemed to pulse. Without thinking, I lean in. “Tripping is embarrassing huh?” I whisper. Aery fell. A wine bottle hit the side of a table and wasted all over his white suit. People laughed. I laughed. No one came to his rescue.

He deserves every bit of mockery.

I walk away. After all, Not my problem.

“One tequila shot please” I call to the bartender. She blinks then goes on her way.

I’m sure she was staring. My nails tap on the table in a pattern.

They’re red.

My nails are never red.

Strange.

The lady comes back. Her name tag says: Michelle. “Here you go.” She says. I want to say thank you.

I cannot. My mouth is stitched shut.

Instead I drown the cup in one go. Then head to the dance floor.

Grab a random guy. Pull him close. “Hey darling.” I purr. “Let’s dance”

The floor. The lights. The music.

We spin. I’m dizzy. Not from the tequila.

I’m not in control.

Twirl. Twirl. Twirl. Twirl.

His arm. Then another. His cologne. Hers. A white blur. A red blur. The room melted.

I was a puppet.

I wanted to stop.

The dress wanted to dance.

It was 4 am when I finally stumbled out. Heels in hand. Lipstick smeared. A stranger’s jacket over my shoulders. I need an Uber.

I open my phone. 4:37 am.

Saturday 14th.

Oh no.

The dress pulses. It knows."

A white car screeches in front of me. Without thinking I get into it.

“Are you Andy Lovers?” A gruff voice asks.

“No I’m Pra— I mean. Yes. I’m Andy.” I said

The gears click into motion and the car’s wheels are on the road.

In the rear view mirror, the Uber driver snags looks of me out of the corner of his eye. I try to pretend I don’t notice. So I stare at his hands on the steering wheel.

They look weird. Almost like….

leave it

I look out the window. The city looks crooked. Like a leaning chair.

A ping.

I unlock my phone to see a message from mum. I dropped your Lunch for today at your dorm. Love you Andy. I close it. Mum... what was her name again? How old is she?

Why can’t I remember.

The driver’s eyes meet mine. I know that face.

The car stops. I give him a 20 dollar note as I open the door.

His hand didn’t have a thumb. I realise.

I close the door.

The stairs are spinning. The lights are blinking. My legs are swaying.

wheeeeee

I make it to my dorm room. There’s a mirror on the wardrobe.

Since when?

I move closer and touch the surface. It feels bouncy. Or maybe I’m just tipsy.

I reach for the zippers on dress and pull.

It doesn’t move.

I pull again.

It’s not budging.

In a panic I look at the new mirror. My reflection is smiling. My teeth are sharp

I close my eyes.

When I open my eyes again, I’m in a ballroom. A woman is standing on the blood red floor. Her nails are red. And she’s wearing my dress.

“No” a voice said. “Not yours. Ours.”

The woman’s mouth drips blood.

Destroy it

I wake up screaming. The wretched dress is still on me. I grab the zipper and tug. It comes out with a pop. I did it.

The drawer on my nightstand has scissors. I open it and start snipping.

The dress is ruined.

I’m free. I feel something slide out.

But who is the woman. I need to know. I need to know who helped me.

The library is empty. Save for a few people walking about. I snag a seat for a nearby computer.

Red dress I search.

Nothing. Just pictures from Amazon.

I think. The name I nearly said… P-R-A

There’s a whole lot of nonsense about Prada shoes for sale. I scroll down.

A news article.

Click.

The article was short. A few paragraphs in the local paper. ‘Prael, 23, was found in her apartment. No signs of forced entry. Blood on her mouth. Eyes hollow. Cause of death unknown.’

I looked at the date. 1968. That was before my mother was born.

Prael wasn’t just the last owner. She was the first. She was in the dress when it was made

Now I know. Prael was her name. Died by unknown causes. Was found with blood spilling from her mouth and her eyes hollow.

Would that have happened to me if I didn’t listen?

It’s sunrise when I leave. The sky is warm and clear.

It’s nice. I should walk

So I walk

When I get back, the red dress is on the bed. No strings anywhere. It’s good as new.

“No. You’re supposed to be gone.” I say. “Prael was supposed to be free.”

Wear it

No. No. No. No.

My fingers move without my command. They grab the silk material and moments later, it’s on me.

My thumb twitches. I should get out. I should leave.

A ping.

There was a message from Alice. The girl who destroyed me.

She wants to meet up on Friday. For a party.

I look into the mirror. My eyes are hollow. There’s blood on my chin.

There’s a man beside me. His hand is resting on my shoulder.

It doesn’t have a thumb.

I’ve already lost.

I slip on my heels. And put on some lipstick.

The metamorphosis was complete. I am no longer Andy.

It’s time to party.