Every Time My Heart Breaks

1 CHLOE
[14 YEARS EARLIER]
“Honey, I really don’t think this is going to…fit.” Mom gritted out an annoyed growl as she tugged on the back of my dress, nearly strangling my boobs as she attempted to draw the zipper up.

Holding my breath so I wouldn’t inhale and cause my rib cage to expand another millimeter, I met her cringe of apology in the mirror I was facing in my bathroom, and I knew she was giving up.

With a whimper of protest, I moaned, “No! No, no, no... Please.”

But she was done.

Closing my eyes so I could no longer see the excess pudge bulging under my arms around the top of my strapless dress, I buried my face in my hands, mortified. “This can’t be happening. It fit perfectly last month when we bought it.”

“I know.” Mom touched my shoulder and squeezed warmly. “But you must’ve hit another growth spurt since then. You’re a blossoming girl, Chlo.”

Blossoming? Right. In my waistline maybe. I hadn’t grown in height since last year.

Gah, this was so freaking embarrassing.

“I can’t believe I gained that much in a single month.”

“It’s probably just water retention from hormones,” Mom tried, stroking my hair this time. “You’re having your period, right?”

Dropping my hands, I spun to frown at her. “You’re not making it better.”

She appeared helpless for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Hey, what about that ice-blue dress you have? You look super cute in that, and it’s stretchy enough to fit a changing body.”

The aghast look I sent her was born from pure horror. “I can’t wear something I wore in middle school.”

Was she kidding me? I’d be a laughing stock.

I was already the fourth-biggest girl in my ninth-grade class. I couldn’t be the most immaturely dressed too. I had to have something going for me. And the trendy, fashionable cut of this dress was supposed to be it. I was going to be the girl with style.

How was Caine Spinnaker going to notice me otherwise?

“Are you sure you can’t zip it up?” I asked Mom, turning up my begging eyes to maximum capacity.

She lifted her brow, not impressed by my lack of faith in her. But then my eye power must’ve kicked in because her shoulders collapsed, and she hissed out a deflated breath. “I mean, how much do you value breathing?”

“Tonight? Not at all. I need to get into this dress. Mom, please.”

Doubt filled her expression, but then she said, “Alright, fine. Turn around and suck it in, baby girl. This is going to get uncomfortable.”

“Screw comfort.” I gratefully showed her my back and grabbed onto the edge of the sink to brace myself while it felt like I was being squeezed through the eye of a needle.

My mother and I both let out a warrior cry as the zipper finally creaked into place, fully closed. “There.” The satisfaction in Mom’s voice mirrored the leap in my chest.

It was do