daphne is not who you think (greenmum) wrote in afic, @ 2011-02-14 18:36:00 |
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It had taken her ages to design her outfit. She felt as if it was the first date all over again, when reality reminded her that it was not a date at all just dinner between friends. Worst, possibly not even between friends, he felt bad for her and took pity; she missed him enough that she was allowing it. Daphne pushed those thoughts aside as distress at having to design an outfit with extra weight. She and Astoria had in fact gone shopping and she had found things she liked, but it was not the same. She knew it was not fat and should not feel that way, should feel sexy with the little rounded stomach, but she didn't, she felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Something that she had not felt for a very long time. No matter how many times she reminded herself that Dean would not care, she could not get the thought out of her mind. He would stare (not too obviously, he was not rude) and judge. Judge her obvious state and hate her for carrying another man's child. The irony being, of course, it was his that he would be hating her for; which was another thing she could not push off. Astoria was right and she knew it, had tried to tell herself that she accepted it. He would hate her when he found it. It was not a matter of if, secrets such as those never remained secret, not forever; it was a matter for when, and when he found out he would hate her. Worst of all, if by some small iota of chance he did not find out and the little girl, her daughter, found out...she would hate her all the worst. She knew she could not blame either of them when it came to pass. She was withholding the information and it would be her alone to blame. It was a hard thought to swallow. She had noble reasons, she stood by those noble reasons. Or she was trying to. But with each question on her method she began to wonder. Was it really such a good idea not to tell him? Was it really keeping them all that much safer if she didn't? Or was it just easier for her? She had six months to decide. Tonight, she was determined to have dinner with a friend. Ignoring the holiday, ignoring her feelings, her struggles. It was dinner. Dinner alone with someone that cared. It was what she attempted to focus on as she knocked on the door to his flat promptly at seven as said, a small box in hand. There had been a temptation to bring 'herself' as dessert but knew that was inappropriate. Wrong and cruel to both of them. Instead tiramisu would have to do. |