Her heels clacked against the hardwood floors, each merciless stab from the stilettos resonating with an echo in the silent bedroom. She hated to pace around, but her nerves got the better of her. Besides, she needed to get used to prancing about in heels again.
Today was one of those dreaded days, when formalities were expected and expectations needed to be exceeded. It was a dance. She hated dances. She hated expectations.
The dress hung slovenly on the hanger, casually draped on the back of her chair. It wasn’t a bad dress by any definition of the word; it accentuated her figure well enough and the color matched the dyed brightness of her phosphorescent hair. She glared at it.
She sat on the edge of her bed, wondering what the hell she was doing to herself. Christ. That stupid bloody dress. Why did she need to wear the damned thing? It wasn’t her in the slightest.
Strike that. It was exactly what everyone would expect out of her. She was the one who wore sleek, patterned dresses. Sometimes long, mostly short. With heels that were less comforting to her feet and more “come forth”-ing.
Expectations. She needed to match expectations. She didn’t want to disappoint anyone. She didn’t want anyone to be underwhelmed. In her quest to match everyone else, she had neglected to think of herself and her own expectations.
What did she want? What would make her happy? Seeing other people happy. So much of her happiness was derived from others. And the others wanted her to be happy. She needed to dwell in that middle ground. That ground where she was happy because they were happy that she was happy. It existed, she just had to test it.
They had all assured her it would be fine. She assured herself it would be fine. She wasn’t at all sure of himself.
Now or never. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Think of yourself, just for a bit. It’s not selfish. It’s just yourself. Be yourself. Don’t regret it. It’ll be fine.
He tore her heels off his feet, hurling them across the room. They landed with a dead thump. He loved the noise.
A suit hung in the closet, waiting to be worn, begging to see the light. She’d gotten it from an old friend, now he was going to use it. He picked it out and stood in front of a mirror, holding the suit against him. The reflection looked good.
The dress sat patiently, waiting for her. The dress would need to wait for a good while, he wasn’t planning on returning to her.