Still The One

~

She wanted to do something amazing. Astonishing. Throw down her skinny, little girl shoes and when she looked in the mirror, see something so mature and sweet, freckles gone and beautiful, but the first step was shock. Shock, she liked to do. She loved to shock, and she gazed at herself at every angle of the mirror, each breakage and each piece of glass. Her eyes far too wide, her lips too red and chapped, and her blush to far above, and she was far too skinny. Her breasts were too bouncy. Her legs were too lanky. Each flaw she found and treated it like a jewel, taking it and softening it with her tears. Valentine's Day was less than three weeks away, and she did not want to be like this, small, petite and the same Ginny as last year.

Valentine's Day. She still hated it, ever since she was eleven and had been publicly humiliated in front of everyone, with that stupid, silly singing valentine. And third year was still the worst, awkward changes and trying to put on lipstick without people pointing out that it smeared all over like moisture of her top throat or lips. She had never had a proper Valentine's Day. It had always remained unusually present for Ginny, to catch it like a single feather dropped to the air so gently wavering across the air.

She pushed the pieces of hair behind her earlobes. She could cut her hair. She could rid of her freckles. She could reduce the size of her nose, be a flawless girl. But what was the point of life if you were perfect looking? It didn't feel right. Every piece of clothing fit far too strangely onto her. If it was something tight, it outlined her stomach far too much. If it was baggy, she felt ugly and fat. If she put her hair in a ponytail, her face would look fat. She looked in the mirror and she saw fat. Fat, fat everywhere. But when she touched her skin, it lay flat, clinging to her veins and bones inside only inches farther away. Not skinny, not fat, petite, plus size, bitch, ugly, pretty, cute, soft, freckled, words words repeated and whispered so many times.

She bowed her head in frustration. She wanted to do something, but had no idea how to do it...or even what it was.

Days days counting away one more day three more trillion years, and she looked up and blinked.

She had always looked good in white. White. White dresses, white lace and white bows. She hated the color of white, but it clung to her shoulders, her hair hung back.

Valentine's Day and the word white mingled together, and her lips parted in surprise.

She had something, that urge pounding within her, but no, it was far too outrageous...

and then she smiled, a real smile, raw and real, and she didn't bother to look at her reflection before she went to sleep, in case it wasn't real after all.