Page 21 of Love Beyond Repair
“Yes, Bex, like manicures, pedicures, and waxing. Trust me, this is the first step in the journey to being a new you. The best version of you.”
“Waxing? Where?” I squeak. Her eyes drop to my crotch. “Wendy, my bits aren’t up for public viewing, thanks.”
“Don’t be such a baby. Regular waxing eliminates the stress around constantly having to shave, is more hygienic, and means you are always ready for a fuck. If the opportunity arises.”
“That’s a very bold ‘if’,” I mutter. “The notches on my bedpost, or lack of them, are none of your business.”Ignoring my protest, she leads me into the shop. I briefly consider having a toddler tantrum, but accept I’ll probably not win. So, I keep my mouth shut and follow her.
Two hours later, I’ve been prodded, primped, and preened within an inch of my life. My platinum-blonde hair has been cut to shoulder length and is sitting in soft, beachy waves. I now have bangs that don’t quite reach my eyes. I’m told this style frames my face beautifully, accentuating my large brown eyes.
My nails are long and hot pink; I love seeing the bright colors swishing around every time I move them. The waxing was as painful and humiliating as expected—having your lady garden on display, while holding a leg in the air so a woman you have never met before could cover you in hot wax and rip it off again. There’s no dignity in it, but I survived. The past few hours have been a learning curve. I’m happy it’s come to an end.
Wendy’s waiting for me at the coffee shop across from the salon. She stands as I approach.
“Right, no time for coffee. Let’s get shopping,” she declares and marches off toward the shops. I’d kill for a coffee, which is obviously not part of her timetable.
After what feels like hours, I’m in the changing room of a huge department store. It’s been over an hour since I wore my own clothes. Wendy and two of the store assistants bring me a steady stream of garments to try on.
So far, we’ve decided on purchasing four items, while around forty are on the discarded pile. They’re pushing me out of my comfort zone, encouraging me to try on bold, bright colors and shapes much more fitted than I’m used to.
“You have a fantastic figure,” one of the assistants says. “Those curves deserve to be shown off.” I giggle nervously at her compliment. “It’s true. You are a striking woman. Enjoy it.”
“That’s exactly what I told her,” Wendy agrees. I roll my eyes.
At last, Wendy’s satisfied I have enough clothing to nail my new look.
“Okay,” she says excitedly, “final surprise.” She jumps up and down on the spot, clapping her hands. “We’re going to a makeup workshop. It starts in fifteen minutes.” With that announcement, she grabs my hand and drags me off to an unknown destination for the final phase. My ordeal is nearly over, but I’ve loved it.
Arriving back at the apartment in a sea of bags, I plonk myself down in exhaustion. It’s eleven o’clock, and I left the house at seven this morning. I’m officially fucked.
A huge smile spreads across my face as memories play in my head. What a fantastic fucking day. I’m already a new woman. I’ve not even started putting what I’ve learned into practice. Silently, I bless Wendy for being an incredible friend. For seeing me. For deciding I was worth theeffort. I make a mental note to take her a small present on Monday, like a bath bomb or something.
After wrestling all my goodies from today into my little room, I lie down on my bed and immediately fall into a dreamless sleep, ready to start a new day as a new me tomorrow.
Chapter eleven
Bex
Tonight will be my first social event appearing as the “new” me. For the past few weeks, since our shopping trip, Wendy has spent hours helping me perfect my hair and makeup. Using a scoring system out of ten, we rated every hairstyle my poor hair has been subjected to. Once we found the winner, I agreed to never change my hair again or face banishment from our friendship. Extreme, I thought, but necessary, according to Wendy.
My new full hairstyle accentuates my cheekbones while minimizing my nose. The color is still blonde but has been relaxed with a subtle golden tone. Makeup tutorials are my new obsession. I spend my evenings practicing the techniques I learn from fashion magazines. It never occurred tome that you could tailor your makeup to the event. I mistakenly believed makeup was universally applicable. Mine was minimal, forgettable, safe. Now I know different.
Maybe it’s superficial. Maybe it’s silly. But for once, I like what I see. Deep down, I’m finally feeling feminine. Wendy has been my cheerleader every step of the way, squealing with delight at every appropriate or inappropriate moment. In hindsight, she will squeal at any opportunity. She has kept me focused on my goal, often saying,
“The goal of the process, Bex, is for you to feel comfortable in your own skin. Own your look. Wear it like it was made for you.”
I hear her sharp, strong words in my mind. It makes me smile. My confidence is building day by day as I try on another new outfit and study myself in the mirror. My bedroom is cluttered with clothes, makeup, and hairstyling products. There isn’t a surface that hasn’t been claimed by this transformation.
My door rattles violently; someone banging viciously on the other side, wanting in.
“Bex. How’s my pet project coming along? Are you nearly ready, gorgeous girl?” Wendy screams through the wood. “Hurry up and let me in. I have supplies. I can’t wait to see you.” Laughing, I walk over to let her in.
“Supplies? What on earth have you been buying now? Hopefully not more beauty products. I don’t think mypoor room could store anymore.” She stares at me as if I’m an idiot.
“Don’t be such a buffoon,” she snaps, then breaks into a huge grin. “I have wine.” She holds up a pink bottle and shakes it. “Right, you get the glasses. Let’s get this party started!”
For the next hour, we sit in my room and discuss the fun we have had the past few weeks. I’ve loved spending time with her. She’s been a refreshing and much-needed addition to my life. It’s wonderful to have a buddy who has no preconceived ideas of who I am, who will just accept me for me. We’ve spent every evening after work together.
To most people, I’m boring Bex, quiet and subdued. The Bex who needs a good serving of alcohol to get out of first gear. I’ve never understood what my friends see in me. I bring nothing worthwhile to the party. I certainly don’t attract hot men. My conversation sticks to teaching or reading. Safe topics I know. Sometimes, I think the reason they keep me around is purely habit.
