Today we go to the shop. Katrin walks with such an expression on her face as if she is being led to her execution — her lips pressed tightly, brows furrowed, and her gaze full of irritation. The girl demonstrates with her whole appearance that going to the shop is the last thing she wants. Deliberately dressed in all black, as if in mourning, she seems to declare that she is not going to take part in this farce. Her eyes are heavily lined with black eyeliner, which gives her look extra drama. It seems that changing her wardrobe is a real catastrophe for her. Each step is difficult, as if she is walking through a minefield rather than a shopping mall. Her hands are tightly clenched into fists, and her gaze is fixed on the floor, as if she is trying to fence herself off from the whole world.
We go up to the second floor. Mannequins in bright clothes surround us, only intensifying Katrin's gloomy mood. She lowers her gaze, and her shoulders slump, as if she is trying to become invisible. I see how much this place irritates her — the riot of colors only enhances her inner discomfort. She seems alien to this world of glitter and glamour, like a dark cloud in the middle of a sunny day.
I take her by the hand — her fingers tremble slightly, and her palm is cool. Squeezing it tighter, I try to convey a little warmth and confidence to her.
"Let's go," I say, guiding her into one of the shops.
Katrin does not resist, but her steps are slow, as if she is going to the scaffold. Her gaze glides over the displays, but she lingers on nothing — she is as if afraid to get carried away by something and violate her usual state of detachment, fearing to fall into a trap she has set for herself.
In the shop, we are met by a smiling saleswoman. Her cheerful voice sounds completely out of place, and Rebel Girl nods barely noticeably, not raising her eyes. She stands nearby, encased in black, like a storm cloud, ready to burst or dissolve into thin air.
"Hello, welcome to our shop," says the saleswoman with a radiant smile, hoping to melt the ice that has shackled Katrin.
"Good afternoon. We have come to pick something for my girlfriend… something more normal," I try to speak confidently.
As soon as the words escape my lips, I feel Katrin's burning gaze on me. Her eyes flash so that I almost flinch. It seems she could kill me right here and now. With her arms crossed on her chest, she looks as if she was dragged here by force.
"Then you are in the right place! We have dresses, skirts, blouses — everything is very beautiful, I think it will suit your girlfriend," the saleswoman continues joyfully, not noticing how Katrin is almost boiling at the word "dresses."
She wears dresses, but completely different ones — revealing, daring, emphasizing her rebellious style. What hangs on the hangers seems faceless and boring to her. She would never have agreed to try them on… if it weren't for me.
I like her style — black, sexy, defiant, bold, provocative. But I want to see her in a different image, a so-called "good girl." She cannot walk in black all her life, even if it suits her. Although for her, this is more of a punishment than an experiment. I am not punishing her, I just want to experiment with her style. At least for these two weeks.
"Show us everything. I choose, she tries on," I say firmly, leaving no room for maneuvering.
"What?!" Katrin widens her eyes. "You said you would just buy, not force me to parade in front of you all day!"
Indignation sounds in her voice, ready to grow into rage.
"I do not know what will suit you. We will buy a lot, and as a result — the clothes will either not be your size, or they will not fit. So you will be changing, and that is that."
I decide to be a little tough. Her resistance only fuels my desire to see it through to the end. She mutters something, but I pretend not to hear.
"As if there is anything to wear here!"
Her discontent is dripping with sarcasm, but I feel — something more is hidden behind it. Fear? Insecurity? Or, perhaps, a drop of curiosity.
"Come on, I will show you everything, and you will choose what will suit your girlfriend," the saleswoman leads us deep into the shop. "Here are the dresses, there are shoes and bags, and further on are skirts, trousers, blouses. Choose, I will come later."
With a polite smile, she leaves us alone with endless rows of clothes.
My girlfriend sighs, but this time there is no previous irritation in her eyes. Following me through the shop, she still moves slowly, but now a slight interest appears in her gait. I know that this trip is not easy, but I hope that it will help her dispel gloomy thoughts — and, perhaps, see herself in a new way.
Katrin stands nearby, clenching her fists, her gaze gliding over the shop with open disgust. I take her by the hand and gently pull her along.
"Well, shall we start?" I ask with a slight smile.
She snorts, but steps after me — like a little rebel forced to submit. I decide not to pressure her and start small. I approach the accessory rack and pick up a bright scarf with a geometric pattern.
"How do you think, will it suit you?"
Katrin throws a quick glance at me and immediately turns away.
"No," she answers briefly, but a barely noticeable uncertainty slips into her voice.
"Why? It is bright, cheerful."
"I do not wear such things," the girl crosses her arms on her chest, as if defending herself.
"Maybe it is worth a try?"
I stretch the scarf out to her, but she does not even make an attempt to take it.
"You promised not to turn me into a doll," a reproach sounds in her voice, but I notice how doubt flashes in her eyes.
"I am not turning you. I am just offering something new," I say softly, noticing how her resistance is gradually weakening.
The girl sighs, finally takes the scarf and holds it to herself, looking in the mirror. Confusion appears in her gaze, as if she sees someone else there.
"Well… how is it?" she asks uncertainly, but there is no longer previous sharpness in her voice.
"Excellent," I answer sincerely. "It highlights your eyes."
Katrin blushes slightly and turns away, but I notice how the corners of her lips tremble, as if she is trying to restrain a smile. It is a small step, but I know it is a beginning.
"Okay, I will take this scarf," she finally says. "But only it."
"Of course," I smile. "But let us look at something else. Maybe something will be found that you will like."
I look over the endless rows of clothes and understand that we will be here for a long time. But it is worth it. Everything I do is for her, so that she sees herself in a new way, so that she feels that she can be different. And even if now she is in a rage, I know that one day she will understand why all this was necessary.
I head towards the hangers with dresses, and Katrin silently follows me, her steps heavy, her gaze gloomy. She reminds me of a shadow reluctantly following an executioner. I choose one dress after another and hand them to her. Every time I stretch out the next dress, she throws a look at me, full of silent reproach, but I only smile in response, trying to maintain calmness. The Rebel Girl accepts them without words, with the appearance of a person resigned to the inevitable. When there are five dresses, I send her to the fitting room. She enters it as if to the scaffold, and I stay waiting outside, experiencing slight excitement.
When she comes out in the first dress, I cannot restrain a smile. The first dress is light pink, reminding of a sundress. It sits on her perfectly. Katrin freezes before the mirror, her face remains impenetrable, but I notice how her eyes widen.
"It suits you," I say softly.
She looks discontentedly, but I notice how her cheeks turn slightly pink.
The second dress — green in polka dots — looks cute on her. Well, if you do not count her gaze, which is clearly directed at me with the intention of burning me together with this shop. I barely restrain a smile so as not to aggravate the situation.
I also like the other dresses, except for the last one. But the main thing is that Katrin likes it, and I still decide to take it. It is simple, white, but with a cut that she usually chooses. It is elegant in its simplicity, and I see how her gaze softens when she sees herself in the mirror. She does not say a word, but her silence is more eloquent than any words.
Next is the fitting of blouses, T-shirts, sweaters, trousers and… skirts. Katrin hates skirts most of all. She does not care about trousers — although she rarely wears them — but as soon as I suggest a skirt or a blouse, a reproachful look flashes in her eyes. I only smile, trying to maintain calmness.
We buy a few things from each category and finish closer to the shop's closing, leaving it with a bunch of bags, my satisfied smile and her tired, doomed expression. Katrin is silent, understanding that it is meaningless to argue. She has accepted her fate and is at an emotional bottom now. Her steps are slow, her gaze is fixed on the floor. She seems as vulnerable as never before. I want to hug her, but I know that now it would be superfluous.
"Thank you," I say when we go out to the street. "You are a good girl."
She sighs, but the corners of her lips tremble barely noticeably. Neither words, nor emotions, only a shadow of gratitude in her eyes. This day became a test for her. One day she will understand why all this was necessary. And, perhaps, even will thank me. But for now I am just happy that she went through it together with me.