The dress still fit as it had two years ago. A little snug around the hips, tied tightly around her neck so it stayed in place, and the fabric falling just past her knees; it swished and flowed when she moved, just as it was supposed to. Mira should have been pleased, yet there was something about this dress and the image sitting before her in the mirror.
The girl two years ago would have been smiling and laughing, twirling about as she reveled in the security this dress gave her. This dress made her feel sexy, seductive, and completely compelling. In this dress, Mira would have taken the world by storm and by George, she had for a while. She’d been comfortable in her own skin and eager to grow up. Growing up meant she would be free to do what she wanted, to laze around all afternoon if she felt like it, to dance until the sun came up, and to simply be. She wouldn’t have to worry about trivial things like homework, keeping up with her grades, the silly gossip that spread around the school too often, or the brewing rumors of war just outside of the strange little paradise her school had become over the years.
Nothing could have prepared her for the chaos that ensued when she left school. The war that had only been rumors was suddenly real—she could smell the carnage left in the wake of attacks as the city fell into lockdown. She went four months without seeing sunlight, pulled down into the depths of the city in order to remain safe. How many nights had she lain awake in that underground cavern, waiting for morning to come again? Waiting and praying to whatever God was out there that she would remain alive to see the day once more.
The woman in the mirror gazed back; she looked exhausted with dark circles beneath her eyes showing prominently against her caramel colored skin; her once thick, shiny hair hung lifeless at her shoulders. Mira was a shadow of herself. The laughter had faded from her eyes, replaced only with a grim determination.
“Mira!” The voice jolted her from her reverie as she snapped her head to the door. Darin came into view, panting from the run up the flight of stairs. “We can’t stay,” He said and Mira almost thought she heard the apology in his tone. Yet she knew better; he wasn’t sorry because she knew better than to linger here. This was a hot zone and any moment the Republican Guard could come bursting through to arrest them. That was the danger, Mira supposed as she glanced out the window of her old home, of being part of the resistance.
Her shoulders sagged as she turned back to the mirror. “I know,” She muttered, fingers trailing along her collarbone, taking in the image one last time. “I used so feel so…good in this dress.” Mira’s voice dropped down to a hoarse whisper, closing her eyes. Footsteps across the wooden floor echoed in her ears, arms wrapping securely around her waist as a scruffy cheek pressed against hers.
“I remember when I saw you in this dress for the first time,” Darin’s voice was a comfort, soothing the frown from her face as she relaxed back into him. “I swore I’d never seen anything prettier in my life.” A ghost of a smile flickered across Mira’s face and her eyes opened to gaze at the reflection in the mirror.
“I don’t think I know myself like that anymore,” Mira sighed softly. “I’m afraid the person I’ve become is here to stay and I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“I think you look as lovely as ever,” Darin’s reply was muffled as he pressed lips to her bare shoulder. “Now, let’s get you out of that dress and get out of here. We gotta move on.” She could see the glint in his eyes, that frantic urge to keep moving and to stay under the radar. It was only when he left the room that Mira finally peeled the fabric from her body, letting the red dress fall to the floor in a heap before she threw on her dirt encrusted clothing from before.
One more glance in the mirror and she saw the person she had become. The grim faced, determined woman who didn’t know what she was fighting for. But she’d continue on fighting anyways because, for now, that’s all she could do.
