Tonight was going to be perfect.

The perfect dress, the perfect shoes, the perfect hair.  …the perfect boy.

He would be here any minute.  Excitement and nervousness coursed through her limbs as she paced the floor, waiting.  She checked herself in the mirror for the tenth time in as many minutes.  She looked perfect.

She thought back to yesterday at school.  Her friends were excited for her when she told them.  None of them have had their first date yet, but they weren’t jealous, they were just as excited for her first date as she was.  They couldn’t wait to hear all about it and she promised she would tell them every perfect detail.

The sound of the doorbell and her parents’ voices downstairs brought her back to the present.  HE was here!  She took a quick peek at the mirror, one last time, and headed for what she knew would be a most memorable night.

She kissed her mom and dad goodbye and her date led her out the door.  Her father, stopping them just long enough to remind her date to have his princess home by 11:00.  The door closed behind them and she thought her perfect night was about to begin.

But it wasn’t perfect.

He dropped her off at 10:00.  The innocent and anticipated goodnight kiss she had fantasized about from the first moment he asked her out, didn’t happen.  He didn’t even walk her to the door.  She didn’t want him to, not now.

She opened the front door as quietly as she could, but her dad must have heard her. She was half way up the stairs by the time she explained she was tired and wanted a shower before bed.

She walked into her room and avoided the mirror.  She didn’t want to see her perfect dress, now torn.  She didn’t want to see her perfect shoes, now scuffed up from trying to run.  She didn’t want to see her perfect hair, now a messy tangle from being pulled.

 He was not the perfect boy.

She couldn’t tell her friends about her “perfect first date.”  She was too ashamed.  She couldn’t tell her parents because she thought it was her fault.  She couldn’t tell anyone, so she kept it all inside.

Nobody noticed, but there were signs.  Signs that something terrible happened that night.  She was no longer the upbeat, cheerful social butterfly that loved life and never met a stranger.  She no longer wore pretty dresses and spent hours putting on makeup and doing her hair.  She was now a loner, she didn’t answer the phone when her friends called, she rarely left her room.  She now wore baggy clothes that were sure to hide her curvy figure.  She no longer curled her hair and only brushed it back in a tom-boyish ponytail.  If she wasn’t pretty, it wouldn’t have happened, he never even would have asked her out.  If she didn’t have a nice figure, he wouldn’t have wanted to touch her.  If she didn’t look perfect, none of this would have happened.

She wanted someone to notice her misery, she wanted someone to help, but she couldn’t ask.

She wished that someone would see the signs.




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