The Butterfly and The Moth

3

"What about this?" Daisy titled her head at me, as she held up yet another one of her picks for my new wardrobe she was insisting we buy.

I pursed my lips as I observed it; a long, pink sundress with lace and frills. While it was certainly a beautiful article of clothing, it didn't belong on my body.

I held my hand out to it anyway, like I was entertaining it, for her sake.

Have you ever heard of someone that refers to themselves as an empath? You know, those people that claim to be able to feel other peoples moods, feel other peoples feelings as their own?

Yeah, those people are full of shit.

Because even though I could tell Daisy was in an excited mood, that she was practically in heaven as she tried to find clothes for me, yet simultaneously nervous about how I regarded her choices— it wasn't because I was an empath.

No, it was because I was more than skilled in the art of deciphering even the smallest moves of her body. Her facial expressions as she looked at a piece of clothing, and then back to me. The way she held her breath until I told her what I thought. The way she was rushing as she moved around each store, furiously flicking through the hangers on the wall.

And I was able to pick up on these cues, because when I was living with a mother who's behaviour was wildly erratic and almost impossible to predict— her subtle body language was the only clues I had. Her slight behaviours that would tell me if we would get ice cream that day, or instead I'd be scrubbing the floor with a bristle brush for eight hours without breaks, because there were spots on the floor that no one but her could see.

Empaths aren't empaths, they're just traumatized.

My fingers skimmed along the soft fabric, and I titled my head as I stared at the dress. "Hmm."

"It's so pretty Dahlia! You should try it on!" Daisy let out, clearly encouraged by my acting.

I let another second pass as I pretended to consider it. My hand moved to the price tag that was attached by a piece of string. I had to stop my eyes from bulging as I read the price tag. $350.

"I think it would look better on you," I sighed out, shaking my head at the absurd price for a delicate piece of fabric.

Last week, three hundred and fifty dollars would be my budget to feed me for the next two months. And here Daisy was, not even blinking at paying it for a single dress.

"What?" Daisy groaned. "No. I mean, it would look good on me, but no! It would look so beautiful on you. We practically have the same body, if that's what you're worried about. We're probably the exact same size. I mean," she took a second to pause, and run her eyes down my body. "Your boobs are definitely bigger, but if anything, it means the dress would look even better!"

I began to walk away, slightly shaking my head as I return to the rack of nearly lined clothes beside us. My body was certainly something I wasn't worried about.

"I have clothes," I said, hoping my voice was as even as I willed it to be. "This isn't necessary. I don't want your parents buying me new clothes. I have..."

"Clothes?" Daisy finished my words, returning to my side and sliding the dress back to where it belonged, accepting defeat.

"Yeah," I hummed, pretending to be busy looking for another item. In truth, I could barely see the clothing in front of me. I was too busy trying to process my feelings.

It's not that I felt particularly bad about spending Daisy's parent's money. I mean, clearly they had enough of it.

More so, it was the fact that each and every thing they did for me put me further into their debt. Free rent, free food, free clothes...