Read Color Me Pretty for Free Online Page A

just thinking about it. There was so much … goop that came out along with the tube … and then my nose and throat were clogged with mucous. Let's just say, I'm glad that Emmett wasn't around to see. Fuck, I'm disgusting. Skinny is supposed to be pretty and perfect, desirable. But none of this is.
    I sit up and adjust myself, drawing the male nurse's head around, so he can study me like I'm an animal at the zoo. I cannot even believe this shit. It's like a horrible fucking soap opera, and I'm the main character. If I get to the clinic and they try to shove pills down my throat and lock me in at night, I am going to flip out. That whole mental asylum thing is so overdone.
    I drop my face into my hands and try to just be. That's what Emmett would do. When his name comes to mind, I smile. He's something to look forward to, that's for sure. If he wasn't waiting at the other end of this tunnel for me, I'd be a wreck right now.
    I focus my gaze out the window and think about the tree house and the decorations we filled it with. I cannot even wait to get up there again, gaze out the window at the setting sun, lie in Emmett's strong arms, kiss his lips. My breath fogs against the glass, and as I reach up to wipe it away, a thought strikes me. It's small, hardly noticeable, just a little niggle of information that leaps up from the cosmic soup of my thoughts and teases me with its presence.
    I decide to take the bait.
    I press the tip of my finger against the glass, and I start to draw, using the edge of my nail like the sharp end of a pencil. A bodice goes up first, laced up in the front like a corset but not as tight. My design is organic, comfortable. It's something that sits on the body, that highlights and protects it, not defines it. I pause. I've always defined myself by my fashion and now I'm creating something that defies that very idea? I keep drawing, but I let that thought simmer in my mind. Should we shape our bodies to clothes or shape clothes to our bodies? I don't know what I believe, but in my drawing, I go with the latter giving window-girl a flowing skirt that dances above her knees and swirls around her like petals on a flower. I even draw her face in, make her smile. I give her breasts and hips, and when I'm finished, I actually like the way she looks.
    I can do this, I think as I admire my work, take it in with an artist's eye. That's when I notice that the nurse is staring at me, examining me critically. I don't like the look in his face, so I reach up and I destroy my picture with a simple swipe of the hand. She was for me and nobody else anyway. I make a mental painting of her in my mind for safekeeping.
    For awhile there, I'm feeling good.
    And then we arrive at Crescent Springs, pulling into the parking lot and maneuvering under the awning up front. The place looks an awful lot like a hotel, only some of the rooms have bars on the windows … My heart leaps into my chest. If they try to trap me in there, they'll regret it. I can't even imagine the feeling of true incarceration. At least at the hospital, there was some semblance of freedom, like if I really, really wanted to, I could get up and walk out the door. If I see iron covering my window, I may actually have a mental breakdown.
    Sweat starts to pour down my back and soaks into the gray fabric of the seat cushion. Meanwhile, the male nurse climbs out and disappears, leaving me alone with the driver for a few minutes. When he comes back, there's a woman with a clipboard (no iPad this time?) who shows me inside and makes me run through some paperwork. To be honest with you, I don't understand any of it and end up just giving her a blank stare. My signature goes where she tells me she needs it. I probably should read all the fine print, but I'm just not up to it. If I have to, I'll break the fuck out of this place and disappear. People have run away for less. As long as I take Emmett with me. Without him, running would be pointless because then I'd never