CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Eight

MELISSA

Dahlia opened the suitcase and I moved back one step, reminding myself not to push too hard. This was what she wanted. I didn't need to prod her. Unless she was the one making the decision then she would never stick to it.

I was very aware of my new curly blond hair about my face, more visible that my bob had been, but I was also more aware than I would normally have been of the weight I was carrying. I knew it wasn't going to be an instantaneous magical transformation like in some trashy novel when I put the new clothes on, but I also felt that something mystical would occur. There would be a monumental shift, not only in Dahlia's and my relationship, but also in the way others perceived us; the way we saw ourselves.

Dahlia hovered over the open case and a visible shudder ran through her, then she lifted a garment and swivelled to face me, holding it up. It was a silk top with ruffles down the front, something expensive and made to accentuate one's... physical endowments. I took it and laid it on the bed. Next to it we placed a skirt and shoes that blended well and a little bolero jacket to cover my shoulders but leave my chest exposed.

These items had been purchased as part of our frenzied preparations to leave. They weren't tailor-made but we'd purchased them at one of the nice Boutiques in Farley. They cost a lot of money – more than I could believe when I saw the price tags – and they were made of equisite material. They took the dress up Dahlia and I had been doing up to now and took it to a whole other level.

I undressed quickly and quietly. As I did so, Dahlia laid out the underwear to go with it. I was leaving my own Primarch-bought clothes behind completely. It was going to be a whole new me. It felt slightly uncomfortable to be naked in front of Dahlia but it wasn't too bad. It made a difference what we were doing and it also made it easier that she had put on some weight. Showing my own rolls of fat wasn't quite so intimidating. I glanced at her as I reached for the bra and was startled to see her staring.

She wasn't looking at my face. Her eyes roved my arms and shoulders, my back, my thighs, and there was an odd caste to her face – a kind of hungriness and wonderment. My first thought was that I couldn't imagine what was going through her head, but then it occurred to me that I did know. There was only one explanation. The truth of the matter was that I couldn't quite understand why she would be thinking what she clearly was.

Why would anyone want to be fat? Why would they want to be as obese as I was? Why would they want to change their hair and clothes and take on my name?

Her eyes met mine and her cheeks coloured. She looked away.

I shook my head and picked up the bra. I hooped the straps through my arms and bent forward to position my breasts in the cups. While I was down there I looked at Dahlia out of the corner of my eye. She was staring again, thinking I couldn't see her. As I swung back up she was already looking away, pretending she hadn't been. I made a chuckle that was as light as an exhalation.

The skirt was tight on me but that was better – it made it less tent-like – and it made my legs look almost good, especially when I put on the shoes. They were Jimmy Choo, a brand I'd fantasised about on occasion but never conceived of actually owning. They were sling-back heels; very delicate and pretty. I admired them, smiling to myself.

They top was a bit of a struggle to get on but it made even my mass look good. It actually made enough of my bosom to look kind of sensational. The lady in the shop had talked about accentuating physical virtues while drawing the eye from less desirable elements. This certainly accomplished that.

“Wow. I look amazing!” In the mirror, with the clothes in place and the hair, it really was like stepping through a doorway and becoming somebody else. I'd applied some make-up earlier. It wasn't enough to really lift me as high as I could go, but it worked wonders to blend me into this new look. “Don't I look amazing?” I said.

Dahlia, when I turned to face her, was looking oddly listless, separated from the flow of positive emotion I was feeling, as though there were glass between us. Catching my gaze made her twitch. Her eyes went left a few degrees as she tried to catch what I'd said, then she returned my look and said, “Uh, yes. You look nice. It's; like you say... It's amazing.” She smiled.

I tired to gauge her for a second, worrying she was going to pull out, but I was too thrilled with my own transformation to think about hers right now. I just wanted to look at myself.

I went up close to the mirror and touched my clothes and hair; my cheeks. I was still fat – I was so fat – but I could see... the potential now. I could almost believe that one day I would be slim. Could I actually do that?

In these clothes – with this hair – it all seemed possible. All of it. I could even entertain the fantasy of something total and complete; something permanent; that would leave me actually looking like Dahlia did.

I was elated. The distance from my home and my normal life was part of that, but also flying through these spectacular new experiences. I had never felt so happy and all I could see before me was more of the same. It was like dying and finding out that heaven did exist. It wasn't just hell or some dingy purgatory waiting instead. It was actually heaven!

I recalled Dahlia and turned back to her. She was standing back at the case, looking into it, obviously reticent. It took the gust from my sails and that same worry returned; deeper now. I couldn't bear to have this bizarre but delightful future laid out for me only to have it taken away but I had the awful presentiment that she was about to withdraw. It would be so easy for her. For her it would just be a few words. For me it would mean being hurled back into the life I hated; that I wanted to escape now with vicious passion.

Her back was to me but I could see her thoughts in the turned-in posture; the lowered head. I took a step toward her, feeling that there was nothing I could do to stop those words of negation come now. The stupid facile woman. She was going to ruin everything and she wouldn't even be aware of the devastation she was doing.

I had to say something; anything to persuade her; but the intensity of my emotion was too close to the surface. The minute I opened my mouth she would know how little I thought of her; how much I wanted to strip her of what was hers and take it for my own.

But what else could I do? Stand in waiting as she pronounced judgement on our experiment; surrender control to her as I had been doing to others my whole life?