I stood looking at myself in the full-length mirror, examining the outfit Ethan had forced me to try on. The all-black ensemble included a tank top, baggy jeans, and a white and red cardigan on top. The sales associate complimented me, saying I looked good in the outfit, but I didn't believe her—after all, it was her job to say those things. Half of my mind was preoccupied with wondering why I even had to be here. After the fiasco at the hospital, I just wanted to go home and sleep it off.
"Get that one for sure," I heard Ethan say. I turned to see him wearing the exact same outfit, except he had a red sweater vest instead of a cardigan. Bastard. Why was he dressing up to match me? Was he trying to make people compare us?
"Why?" I asked.
"I like it."
