Dahlia Wellburg hates her misery as much as she loves it. She sees herself as a stone: ordinary and unwanted. Yet, they know her to be a rose: soft, but with thorns.
. . .
Mature Content. Check the tags.
I am captivated and freed by you. I do not know which I love more - the shackles, or the sky.
. . .
CHAPTER - 1
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
. . .
Very early in my life, I accepted that I wasn't beautiful. It was a crushing realization, especially for a fifteen-year-old, but I made peace with it over the years. I was used to getting overlooked, and not being appreciated by the boys I went out with. I was the comfortable choice for them, the 'safe' choice - just someone who'd be there because she couldn't do better. And when the second a better girl came along, they were gone.
I accepted that I was replaceable, too - By a better girlfriend, by a better friend, by a better daughter, even.
When you realize these things early in life, you get comfortable with them. Someone not calling you back doesn't hurt as much, and when someone does, you don't allow hope. You constantly try to keep them there, but when they push back, you let them go, and it doesn't hurt as much.
So being at the wedding of a man I once loved, didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. The champagne was good, the outfits were depressing, and the bride's dress looked like it cost as much as my entire store. I wasn't bitter, I wasn't happy. I was right in between, as always. Unbothered, but still...aware - weirdly aware of just how...easily I could be left.
I clapped and cheered, and danced when I felt like I had to. I avoided Evan's guilty eyes, following me on the dance floor. Was he waiting for a breakdown? Or some show of emotions? I didn't know. I couldn't know. I wasn't always in touch with my feelings.
'They look beautiful together," my sister said. "He would have looked better with you. They look like they could be siblings." She grinned at me, as if expecting me to add to that, and on a normal day perhaps I would have. But today I was a mess of nothing.
"They do look beautiful together," I decided to add after the silence stretched for too long. Emilia, my sister, liked conversations with everyone. I only liked them with her. No one could make me laugh as much as her. "They said she organized all of this."
"Did she?" Emilia looked around the tent with scrutiny but it was too beautiful to criticize. People who are bad to you can be good at things. The tent was maroon, and everything else was glowing with white and golden. The bride was dancing with her bridesmaids, and Evan still had his guilty face on as he kept glancing at me. "I want to burn it down."
"Let's knock over a candle," My mom, who was just an older version of my sister with the same dark hair and palest skin, whisperd under her breath. My sister and I laughed. Surrounding us were vanilla candles and the sweet smell was almost unbearable. I had always hated vanilla, the smell or the taste never quite sit well with me. It had too much going on. I liked lavender - the quiet smell of it.
"What are you ladies cooking up?" My father stood behind my mom, tilting his head down as she looked up. They grinned at each other and kissed. First came disgusted, as always, and then a longing that just always had been there - a need to belong with someone.
