My physician won’t be happy about the cigarettes; he’ll be pleased, though, that his work has not been in vain. Likewise my therapist will feel gratified her efforts are yielding results.
After their investment in me, I feel attractive. I can see I’ve drawn attention; the men my friends are dancing with give me the eye. They follow the outline I’ve drawn by subtraction, my legs, my shoulders, the softer flesh revealed for viewing. My voice, smoke-enhanced, lures them in for an even closer look.
I’ve hunched over, hiding from them, just like any other vulnerable woman might when exposed both physically and emotionally. With time, practice, and healing, I’ll follow one of those hungry-eyed men to the dance floor.
As much as I hate to admit it, my doctors were right; there can be no more hiding. I needed to get out and assume normality if I’m ever going to be normal again.
A new normal, though, one I can feel every time I shift in my seat, one I choose every time I pass through the right door.
A new, normal woman.
_____
Copyright © 2013 Femme Malheureuse
Words: 184
Originally submitted to fan fic flash fic - Week 8
Photo prompt: origin unknown
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