sweet tea. -tkam

insecure.

-daisys pov-

     The old metal bed frame jostled and the worn springs of my bed creaked as I flipped down onto it. I held my dress against me as I laid there, closing my eyes tightly as I felt the fabric. I sighed. Oh, daisy. Here you go again.

I got up, putting the dress on.

Oh daisy look at what you're doing, why are you doing it. Why are you this way? I thought as I zipped my dress up, mentally setting my decision to go in stone.

Daisy look at yourself, don't you see it's all your fault? Why, why must you do this?

I couldn't block my inner dialogue as I applied my crimson lipstick.

Don't do it daisy, just lock yourself in the bathroom, run to someone's house, hide, something, but please daisy Mae don't do this to us again.

I looked at myself in the mirror as I fastened my mothers pearls around my neck.

"Be brave....you're a big girl now. You can't cry over everything anymore. Maybe life just isn't perfect, maybe he's the best we have. And maybe he's right, maybe I owe it. Would we know?
     No, no we wouldn't, all we have is a gut feeling. What if this is my only chance at love, im an old maid now, and I'm infertile, I can't complain. You're selfish daisy Mae, horribly selfish and you know that's a sin.
      And...I should feel ashamed, these feelings, the unease. It's rude. So just do what you're supposed to. Smile, nod, sit pretty, and most importantly, agree"

It almost seemed as if I had hurt the feelings of my reflection, but I was only ever able to be so harsh to my own self.
      I doubted myself, but as I  looked at myself one last time on the mirror, an all too familiar sense of dread coiled around my very soul. But now, my inner dialogue no longer dared protest.

-3rd pov-

As daisy heard a knock at her door, her stomach dropped, and for a moment she froze, her body attempting to refuse her decision one final time.
     Uprooting herself from her fixed trance, she drew in a quivering breath as she approached the door. She reminded herself over and over in her head to just smile, sit pretty, and, agree. Smile, sit pretty, and agree.
     If she could manage those two things she thought she might have a chance at a husband, and maybe, just maybe, if she stayed complacent enough, she would be safe.
      As she opened the door, for a brief moment their eyes met, and she felt a jolt of fear in her body. He looked her up and down, and nodded in what she hoped was satisfaction or approval. 
        And in that moment, she felt herself right back where she had begun so many years ago, craving his approval, yearning for a hint of praise. All from a man she fears.
      He offered his arm and as they walked she fretfully checked her outfit again, now doubting her looks. Minutes passed in silence, but, she had truly gotten ready, was it not good enough? He hadn't said a thing about her, and she felt insecure again.
       Was she not pretty? She never felt pretty, was that reality, or just her own mind? In the moment she was beginning to think that it was just the hard truth.
    She rubbed her cheek hard, and the fat from her cheeks squished up, she frowned a bit in dissatisfaction. She would never have that strong sharp jaw, those carved cheeks. She remembered again the freckles that speckled her face.
     It looked like dirt, she was sure of it, dirt on her face, and even worse the tan of her skin, she never could have that milky porcelain elegance.
      And the sun kiss across her cheeks, it ruined her blush. Everyone knew blush was supposed to stand out right on the lower center of the cheeks and that's all, not covering the upper of your cheeks and then your nose.
      And what about all the frizzy hairs she surely had? What about all the little bruises and cuts on her legs and body, what about the scars on her lower stomach.
     What about how when she smiled, one side of her mouth stretched further than the other, or his one eye would shut more than the second. What about the little hairs on her legs, and what about how her stomach rolls when she sits.
      How her thighs double in size when she sits, or his her boobs drift apart once the bra is off. She felt waves of insecurities flood her mind again, and she was almost to engrossed in her thought to hear him when he spoke at long last.

"So you wore red" he said

She looked up hopefully.

"You noticed, yes, yea...I picked it for the date...is it..okay?"

He nodded in a "so-so" way

"Well I was going to say I just don't think red is really your color. Colors like that just look better on pale skin"

She felt a pang of pain in her chest.

"Oh.."

He scrunched his nose a bit and furrowed his brow in dismissive confusion.

"Okay, what's all that for. I just said it wasn't your color, you don't need to be so sensitive about it, don't you want to know what looks good and what dosent?"

She paused for a second, she could almost feel little pieces of her holding herself together crumbling.

"No..no I..I do. I jus...it's jus I guess that I picked it specifically for the date."

"Well I didn't ask you to wear red, did I?"

"Well, no.."

"So how is it my fault that you wore a color you don't look good in and then got all sulky about it"

She paused, looking off in the distance

"No...you're right.." she digressed.

He laughed a bit and shook his head

"What is it with women and being all emotional, I think you have a heart in place of a brain."

She forced a small laugh. A classic, a stab against women to a woman. A funny joke.

"Yea.."

"Well cheer up, you've got a hot body and a date, what more do you want?"

"Nothin more I suppose..."

"You suppose? Lord what else would you want? I took you on a date, I gave you a compliment, I bought your groceries? Why can't women just be satisfied"

     She nodded, and he put his hand on her ass, she pulled a way instinctively, but he gripped her back in place, his demeanor warning her not to move.