Day #4, Costume Party – by Amber Averay
Hmmm… What to wear, what to wear? Althea idly flicked through the clothing on the rack, ignoring the glittery bralets and sparkling skirts and sheer, shimmery tops. She didn’t know what she wanted to wear, but she knew what she didn’t want to wear. And she didn’t want to find herself in some sort of skimpy, common, fade-into-the-background outfit that every other girl would be wearing. It would get her some attention for a short while, but not make her stand out in the long run.
And she wanted people to notice her.
Unfortunately money was tight, and she didn’t have deep pockets or a fat bank balance like some of her friends. She’d missed four shifts at work last week due to illness, so her pay this week was pathetic. But she love second-hand shops, browsing the racks and piecing outfits together from random finds that just somehow perfectly meshed.
Her eyes lit on an item hidden behind a stack of shirts, and she pushed through the curtains of fabric until her hand closed on what she wanted. It was so soft in her fingers, the material light and almost silken. She drew it into the light, mesmerised by its perfection, and almost as an afterthought checked the price. She already knew she was buying it – no matter the cost. But when she saw the tag read three dollars and fifty cents, she knew it was meant to be.
She even had the perfect pair of shoes to go with this at home! Day made.
Althea left the shop, a cheerful bounce in her step, and ate a quick late lunch before hurrying home. She’d left it almost too late finding her costume, with the party being tonight, but she’d made it.
As the hour drew near she showered, blow-dried her white-blonde hair, and set about perfecting her make up. White face powder, eyes lined with dark kohl, sweeping up at the corners in elegant wings. Dramatic eyeshadow adding depth and mystery to her gaze, clever contouring to make her cheekbones seem sky-high. Lip liner and lipstick darkest red, marked just over the actual shape of her mouth to give it a fuller look.
Then she slipped into her costume, eased her feet into her shoes, and floated out the door in a cloud of georgette and chiffon. She looked amazing. She felt amazing! The Bride of Dracula had never seemed so alluring and dangerous and perfect.
Her floor-length silver-and-white skirts swished with each footstep as she neared the address. Music pulsed through the air, the sounds of yelling, laughing, screeching piercing through the beats.
Althea pushed the back gate open and glided through, a smile curving her cosmetically-plumped lips. Her eyes tracked over the assembled guests, and all sound suddenly disappeared. Her heart thundered, hands clenching into fists hidden behind the cloth of her gown. Faces slowly turned toward her, mocking faces, smug faces, people screaming with laughter – at her expense.
There was at least twenty people in the pool, and not a one of them was in costume – unless bikinis and shorts counted.
Heat flooded Althea’s cheeks, and humiliated tears pricked her eyes. She should have known these rich kinds wouldn’t have wanted the likes of her at their party. Not really. As usual, she was merely a joke for hire – a constant punchline always ready when the jests began.
Sound came roaring back with a speed that left her dizzy, and it was like a punch to the gut. Was it tears that spilled down her cheeks, or water splashed from the hysterically cackling people in the pool? Althea didn’t know – and she didn’t care. She reached out a hand to steady herself, her legs suddenly wobbly, and almost without thinking picked up the speaker she’d braced herself against. With a strength she didn’t know she had, she hurled it through the air and spun around, vanishing through the gate before the other partygoers registered what she’d done.
Sparks erupted across the surface of the pool, screams filling the air once again – but this time not mocking her, no, not mocking her ever again. The stench of burned hair and cooked meat accompanied the hissing, spitting, sparking, splashing, screaming, and Althea held her head high, gathered her skirts in her hands, and walked on.
There was only so many times she could be humiliated. She hoped they felt all the pain before they died; hoped they weren’t dead yet. She needed them to suffer first – as they’d made her suffer for so long.
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