Her routine typically consisted of a predictable, perfectly sequential list which reads as follows--Shower, blow dry, dress, coffee, bus. The system was impeccable to the Samara of two weeks ago. Because then, she seldom understood the benefit of inner-conflicts. Before, they had proven to be objects of ultimate resentment and fear. Weapons against the daily tasks which prove natural to the average person, yet irrationally uncomfortable for that of an anxious one.
Because before, all she'd ever done with them was belittle herself on either side. Today, as she hastily dressed in a professionally sexy number, without bothering to glance at herself in the mirror, she opted to seek reason. As she paired her dress with the only pair of pumps she owned, she considered the dialogue of back and forth she had experienced an hour before, pre-shower, post dreadful night of rain. How it served to prove exactly why a move like this was necessary.
Why? Sam had no idea, because it could've been any number of things. Maybe Charles' advice finally started to ring true to her. Perhaps she was curious to see how shocked he'd be. If he'd be surprised at all, given her green attire she'd dawned the week prior. Whatever the reason, she understood one major difference between this day and that one.
For today, Samara wasn't convinced to dress this way. She just was. As far as she was concerned, if there existed a time to do this for herself, it was now. All fed up and swept away from nerves, even for just one morning. She found that today, she lacked any care over how Charles might have disapproved of another oversized cardigan and long skirt. She lacked care in general.
She might just be tired, or confused. Uncomfortable with how predictable she really was. Today, as she'd stood in the kitchen and stewed over all of the things she'd yet to understand that she felt she should have, something clicked and set fire to the routine of two weeks ago. Made it all feel like a record she'd heard a million times. A boss she'd already beaten. Why did she keep reverting to the expected? Easy, because the norm is simple.
Today however, she's no longer content with simple. So, she put on her mascara--a new tube, per Monica's advice--and a gloss. No once over to observe the similarities between her body and a child's. No second guessing. These flames, the tame albeit invigorating passion ignited by exhaustion of all things, threw her forward in a leap of epic proportions. Her boss wanted this, sure. But, for the first time throughout these weeks, so did she.
So, Sam basked in the fact that he had no idea what was in store for him today. Feeling electric, she kissed Bowser goodbye and locked the door behind her, umbrella in tow. Flipping it open, she let the wind whip through her hair as she smirked with anticipation. Oh, what it was to quit caring. To feel for once, in some tiny fraction far beyond your consideration, that you were hot. Take it all in, Jones.
I chose to be a big girl.
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A Wedding Band in Denim
FanfictionIsn't it always true of betrayal; brands the heart, solidifies its walls? Samara never had a reason to wonder at this. Her own walls were always literal, built by family and circumstance, they didn't fail at rendering her unfathomably naive at the a...
