Lakota

Chapter 1: Mirror, Mirror

Chapter 1: Mirror, Mirror

I studied my reflection meticulously for what seemed like eons, but in reality it must have only been several minutes. My elegant hairstyle kept any obnoxious hair off my neck but a few pesky strands still lingered in front of my face. My eyes narrowed and I hastily grabbed at the scissors that sat unattended on my vanity. I raised them in front of me and contemplated cutting all my carefully maintained beautiful locks off to form short, choppy waves.

Mother would certainly approve.

I gave out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. "Not likely," I murmured, setting down the cutting contraption. Still, the urge to rip off my dazzling necklace and tear at my expensive silken dress was overwhelming: I was painstakingly aware of the tight caress of my attire and I felt like I was being strangled. My stomach twisted into knots and I was inclined to vomit.

"Lakota, dear!" My mother called abruptly as she rapped against my door, startling me into knocking over a vial of perfume, sending it sprawling onto the carpet floor; its clear, sweet liquid oozing onto floor.

"Shit!" I hissed and in a panic I fell to my knees and hurriedly tried to correct my mistake. My mother always had the uncanny tendency to make me nervous and flustered. "Yes, mother?" I said with as much dignity and grace as I could muster.

"Lakota, darling," She began again, knocking with a little more force, "Donovan has arrived!" She sang excitedly. "Don't you want to come downstairs and meet your special guest?"

"Of course mother," I affirmed from my position on the floor, "I'll be out in a moment. I'm just freshening up."

"Oh, wonderful!" She chirped. "I just know tonight's the evening! I've ordered flowers, the decorations, the food- all catered by the very best, you know- in preparation for tonight. You see, I was telling Melissa about..." She continued to prattle on, unaware that I wasn't listening as I stood and dusted off my knees and pulled at the hem of my dress.

Damn, this dress is small.

I let out and irritated sigh and looked back again to my sworn enemy: the dreaded mirror. In all honesty, I could say that I looked rather presentable for such a vital evening. Marta had put forth so much effort in taming my wild, blond tresses into a fashionable twist and my face looked dramatically seductive in the dark tones that highlighted my jade eyes. A feature that my mother always said was my best one.

I suppose Donovan will be impressed. As always.

I smoothed a hand over my hair and my simple black dress that hugged my figure and ended right above my knees. It was sleek yet simple but had a lower cut front and was nearly backless. Perfect for Donovan to roam his hands over throughout the evening.

Tonight was the night that mother wanted everything to be set up perfectly for Donovan and I. She was expecting for me to attain a ring and end our night in a passionate display of seduction. My mother had been very crass and straightforward when she sat me down and told me that the plan was for me to go back with him to his home, which I had never been to at night, and screw him. This, she thought, would be an incentive for marriage. Hence, why my mother was being more concerned and controlling than normal. Any and all choices about my attire and actions were thoroughly planned out and calculated in order to produce the best outcome.

It was logical for our relationship to progress to this point, I supposed. We'd been together for over a year and had known each other since our early childhood days. We weren't in love, by any standards, but Donovan wasn't the type to be in love. He was much more fond of his job and political life. I, likewise, wasn't looking for an emotional relationship, and I valued my own independence and freedom far more than anything my heart could desire.

That's not to say that we didn't have feelings for one another. Donovan was probably the only man I could ever allow myself to be with; he was intelligent and utterly charming- not at all bad with women- and his zeal and fierce dedication to his job was something to be admired by all, especially myself.

And I was the only woman who could ever stand toe to toe with him; I'd challenge him and say witty remarks along with flirtatious ones, although those were normally for show. With Donovan, it was easier to be my true self and shed the layers of tough skin and false persona that I projected to the outside world. Try my hardest, he always succeeded in knocking down my defenses and saw all my flaws and imperfections. But despite them all, he still remained by my side. I knew he felt as if I was one of the only people that he had that connection with; any other of the dozens of girls that threw himself at his feet forever tried to gain his approval, something he hated. I didn't ask for his approval or favor; I had earned it through years of friendship and time spent together without ever caring if I had it or not.

He always had this certain spark in his eye- the same spark, I noticed, that was continuously apparent whenever he gave his speeches- that seemed to burn brightly whenever we had conversations or talked to one another. I knew that I was probably the only one for him, just as he was the only one for me.

Our relationship most likely wouldn't be conventional; I was certain there'd be a few girls on the side during our marriage, some romantic trysts, although I'd be lying if I'd say that I wouldn't be involved in some of my own as well. But through it all, we'd have a long prosperous marriage with equal gain for the both of us and we would be as happy as any other couple. It was hypothetical that this type of marriage could poison our relationship if true, genuine feelings ever emerged from either of us and someone could get hurt. But I at least had enough confidence in myself that I would never fall in love with anyone, and since Donovan was so much like me, he couldn't possibly either. It was most definitely arrogant to assume the feelings and actions of our future selves, seeing as I had no idea of the possible situations we could be placed into, but I digress...

I forcefully pushed my rambling thoughts aside as I slipped on my tall heels and steeled myself for tonight's party. Swinging open the door, I greeted my waiting mother with a bright, cheery smile that radiated false delight.

"What are we waiting for?" I posed with as much zeal as I could muster, covering the massive sinking feeling I detected in my stomach that made my confidence falter and my heart race. It gnawed on my bones sent chills up my spine. A dinner party full of the wealthy elite sounded like a horror-show and I wanted nothing more than to run away and get lost in the world. But as my mother and I walked farther away from the comfort and solace of my room, I began to realize that something else other than disgust was surfacing from my core. It was something akin to...

Fear.

I rarely ever had such disturbing feelings of weakness, yet they always seemed to be rather violent and harsh things. My fingers clasped together tightly as I tried to squash any feelings of insecurity and focus on my mother's words.

But I couldn't help but feel this dinner party was an event that orchestrated an entire series of outcomes.

And I was never wrong.