Sunshine | H. S.

11

Trigger warning: mention of abuse, assault and rape. These are serious topics to me and I'm including them because they're part of the story and because I have personally experienced some of these things, so this is an outlet for me to talk about them and feel safe while doing it. If anybody is struggling with anything or just needs a virtual hug, my DMs are always open. 

Class was excruciating. I would have enjoyed all of my lectures today if I had been able to concentrate even a little bit. But no, those annoyingly pretty green eyes just refuse to leave my mind. It's like Harry has burned himself into my brain, and anytime I try to focus on anything but him he pops up in my head again. It's like wizardry.

You're a wizard, Harry.

After a morning of classes and an afternoon of pacing around my flat, Nat telling me to calm down, trying to convince myself that I have nothing to be nervous about because we're just friends and struggling with what I want to wear like I'm 15 and this is my first date, except that it isn't a date, I hear my text alert and my brain automatically goes into overdrive. Even more so when I see Harry's name on the screen.

H: Is 7:30 a good time? Can't wait to see you, love

Okay Sophie play it cool, don't you dare sound needy or anxious. Calm.

S: 7:30 is great. See you in a bit, Harry :)

That gives me about twenty minutes to figure out what to wear before I have to leave if I want to be on time, which I do. Fuck. I am not used to caring about someone else's opinion about my appearance but then again, I'm not used to sleeping with someone and not being able to get them out of my damn brain either. Fun new things I have to get used to, I guess. Yay.

The thing is, I'm so used to almost everyone having a negative opinion about my appearance that I stopped trying to impress other people with the way I dress. I spent so much time trying to look like other people wanted that I forgot what I wanted to look like.

My mother is an extremely religious and conservative person, so growing up it was all long skirts and turtlenecks, and when I got older and wanted to wear "normal" clothes like everyone else she forbade it. When I was sixteen I bought my first skirt that didn't cover all of my legs. It wasn't scandalously short, just a normal skirt for a teenager.

When my mum found it she acted like I was going to burn in hell for all eternity because I bought such a 'slutty, inappropriate piece of clothing' and she cut it to shreds with a pair of scissors. I wasn't allowed to go shopping for clothes on my own again. It's ironic that I'm a tattooed, bisexual atheist who has had plenty of sex before marriage and a skirt above my knees was going to send me to hell, according to my lovely mother.

Maybe that skirt was just the cherry on top of my cake of sins.

When I turned eighteen and started getting tattooed I reached a point where I wasn't able to hide them unless I wore a hazmat suit, finger tattoos are kind of hard to cover, even in the winter. So my mum eventually saw them and even though I wasn't underage she basically had a full on screaming and crying breakdown because of the giant disappointment I turned out to be. If it was up to her I would have married Nathan, stayed a virgin until marriage, lived in floor length baggy clothing and went to church every Sunday.

Telling her that I don't believe in God or anything remotely religious and that I like women as well as men was the final straw. She screamed at me for what felt like an eternity, told me she didn't deserve a daughter like me since she was a good, devoted woman and that she would rather I be dead than having to put up with having me as a daughter.