living free, alive

The war has been over for months, hell, its nearing a year, and Anemone still can’t even look at herself. Every time she tries, she breaks the mirror, closes the windows, shuts herself away.  

“It’s okay to live,” Dominic had told her. Tells her. “You can live free, without pain, without hurt, and with-”

But, it’s already been too much. She’s already hurt so many. She gets spat on whenever she walks outside, snarled at by survivors of her “deeds”, beaten by children with sticks and stones and called a monster all the same.

Anemone hasn’t forgotten what happened. They haven’t either, and all she wants to do is go shopping. She just wants to try a new food. She wants to go out and smile with the sun all with the man she wants to-

“Love.”

The door opens to the tiny apartment she shares with Dominic and he walks in, shopping bags in tow. He’s tended to go out of his way to be adventurous with his cooking, always experimenting and trying out new dishes he’s heard of or found in books and magazines. He always comes home with a smile, a greeting for Anemone, places his chores down and immediately comes back to her.

He’s the only person who really has.

He’s the only person who’s really understood. He doesn’t make her go out, he doesn’t make her smile, he doesn’t make her look at herself. He lets her do it all on her own, at her own pace, because he remembers what it’s like to be where she is. He remembers his parents torn apart by the scubs. He remembers the days, months, years, where he forced himself to get up, smile, and comply to what society wanted him to. He recalls the times where it was the biggest challenge of the day just to get out of bed and do anything. He knows the pain of not having enough time to recover.

So, Dominic damn well understands where Anemone is at right now, and he vows to give her the time he wasn’t allowed have.

He makes dinner-something new today with a kind of fish-and places it down at the table. Anemone pokes at it with her fork, giggles when it jiggles, and enjoys every single bite. She feels something every time Dominic does this; something good, something happy. She remembers why she’s here, she remembers why she loves him so much, she remembers why she’s alive.

And it’s the small things like this that give Anemone the confidence to go out there, get spat on, stoned, and snarled. The small things like this that give her the courage to face herself in the mirror, even if it’s only for a few seconds. Small things like this that give her the strength just to enter a restaurant and try something outlandish and extravagant, because she’s alive, because she can.

Even if it’s rare, it’s the small things that remind her that she can.

“Dominic,” she says softly as they clean up. He pops his head up in acknowledgement. It’s always so… cute? When he does it? Anemone still can’t find the words, is still understanding what it means to love someone.

“Can we go, after this, and shop for a new mirror?” She asks, her voice innocent, but Dominic knows this is not a simple question.

“Of course!” He replies, enthusiastic not because he feels the need to, but because he’s just so damn proud of her for asking. This has been the third time this month in a string of broken mirrors, and he knows that progress. Last month the mirror stayed broken, the month before she only asked once. This is huge, he knows it, she knows it.

Anemone smiles back in response. She wants to start working on keeping that smile. She wants to start practicing. It’s small on paper but enormous to conquer, and if there’s one thing she can fight in the war against herself, she knows she can at least win this.