Bringing Back Hallie

Bringing Back Hallie: Chapter Seven

A/N--Short and somewhat of a filler chapter ahead you guys, just to warn you.  But I do find it quite adorable and I hope you all do too and that YOU COMMENT FOR ME :) haha.  I'm not trying to be like those irritating ones who fish for comments, but they do motivate me and let me know that you like what I'm working on! So yeah.

Vote and comment if you want to be awesome!  And the pic on the side is of Hallie's dad :) I absolutely love Blake Shelton, simply because of how he is on The Voice.  He's freaking hilarious and adorable and I love him.

Just shoot me now. 

Like in the forehead or something; anything fast. 

I'm wearing a dress, my hair is pinned and sprayed into this updo thing, and my nails are silver and sparkly. 

I feel like a princess, a feeling I've never actually wanted to feel. I'm more of the tomboy, would rather run around in sneakers or even better yet do absolutely nothing all day. But I am not that right now. Oh no I am not. 

Instead I am a girl wearing this light blue one-shouldered gown that's tight in the chest area, but that lightly flows outwards until it hits the floor. It's actually a gorgeous dress, and if I didn't have to wear it and feel completely inadequate in doing so, I'd love it dearly. But I just feel like someone much more gorgeous should be able to wear this, to showcase it how it should be. My boobs are too small to fill out the top portion, and my waist line not sunken in enough to show of the pretty silver Grecian rope that holds it tight.  

And I have arm fat. 

Ugh. 

My mom and Darla, though, seem to have completely different opinions when it comes to me wearing this. Darla is extremely jealous, and hasn't left her little pity party which is currently taking place on my bed, and my mom really just can't stop cooing over it and how pretty I look in it. 

And her cooing over anything really is just weird in itself, honestly. 

"How long do I have to wear this again?" I ask her, once again raking over my body in the mirror and pointing out every single minute flaw. It's terrible for my body image I know, I've read the articles, but it still doesn't stop me from doing it. 

My mom lightly swats at the one completely exposed shoulder and says, "Hush it, Hallie. You look gorgeous and I'm not going to let you and your pissed-at-the-world mood ruin it." 

"I'm not pissed at the world," I tell her sternly, but then mumble underneath my breath, "Just this damn dress." 

"This is a Vera Wang," my sister informs me dumbly, as if this is just something that I should know of. I mean forgive me that I'm not into designers anything. I don't know anything about them, and I don't really care. I'm far too comfortable in thirty dollar jeans and band T-shirts to think twice about designers. 

"Awesome," I say, but you can easily tell in my voice that I could care less. And I know that my mom is a bit annoyed because she'd be the one wearing such a nice dress if I hadn't had to steal her seat at the banquet as damage control, and Darla too really, so I'm trying to be thankful. I really am. It's just hard when I feel so damn stupid wearing this. 

I can practically feel my mom roll her eyes at this statement, but luckily she doesn't say anything. Instead she just comes to stand in front of me, her dainty hands on my shoulders, and runs her eyes intricately over my face, making sure that I'm all in place. 

Once she seems to be happy with what she sees, she takes a step back and asks me, "You're wearing deodorant, right?" 

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes at her. I may not dress up all of the time and maybe I don't know how to apply eyeliner all the well, but I can at least be trusted to put on fucking deodorant. Christ. "Yes, mom. Geez. Give me some credit."