teddy bear

iv.

Mother told me I was beautiful, but then shook her head and said that someone warm should say that to me. And she looked at me, the coldest look settling in her blue eyes before her soft lips parted and she spoke: "You must be beautiful." I had no clue what mother meant; I never thought about those words until after her death, when I suddenly remembered everything peculiar she ever told me.

It was not a regular thing- mother telling me I must be beautiful. It would only happen on the darkest of nights, for that was when the moon matched her glow and the sky matched her soul. Mother stroked my hair, pressing sweet kisses into the blonde locks, murmuring teasing phrases and comments. She wanted me to cut my long hair. Start a new beginning. I was not ready.

...

He told me I was beautiful, but then shook his head and said that beautiful things do not exist. And he looked at me, the warmest look settling in his hazel eyes before his chapped lips parted and he spoke: "You are so beautiful." It was foreign to me. To think that I could change his mind about beauty and how he perceived it. It was foreign to me that someone as stunning as he could think I was beautiful.

It became a regular thing- him telling me I was beautiful and then kissing me on my lips. The first time our mouthes met it was a rainy Wednesday and we were sitting on his orange sofa, laughing about nonsense until suddenly he leaned toward me, holding my cheek with his left hand and my hand with his right. He kissed me softly. Then leaned back and continued our conversation.

He began to take photos of me. Because I was the only beautiful thing in his world and he loved photographing pleasing things to his eyes. "Right there," he told me, brushing my blonde hair over my left shoulder as he snapped a shot. "Don't move." Shawn loved taking photographs of me. By the time we'd known each other for six months I was all over his apartment. 

Our level of intimacy developed along with his photos.

A pastel yellow colored dress hung off my body loosely as Shawn set up his camera for shooting. He was deep in his work as I stared off into the sunset. We were at the local park. I wasn't expecting him to speak. "You chopped off all your hair." Shawn said. I was still dazed he had noticed. I looked to him with a smile, feeling the hat placed delicately on my now short hair.

"Yes! Cutting your hair short symbolizes new beginnings. I am ready for a new beginning." Shawn was silent as he adjusted his camera lens. I blinked. The smile fell from my nude lip. Shawn began with taking a series of photos to make sure he enjoyed the lighting and contrast. "Do you like it?" I asked him, biting my bottom lip nervously.

Shawn looked confused. He shifted his camera below the eye. "What does it matter what I think?" I wanted to tell him that his opinion mattered to me, but I was too afraid. I only nodded, looking to my feet before I had to model for him. "Okay. Lose the hat," Shawn ordered, ripping it off my head with the slightest of ease.

"What? But I like it."

"The color looks weird on my camera."

"It's black. Everything looks okay with black." My voice had raised drastically. Shawn raised an eyebrow at me and I swallowed hard, nodding my head before letting out an airy laugh. "I'm ready now."

I was standing on the park bench, the dark colored boards allowing me stand taller than Shawn. My short blonde hair no longer felt so special, and I no longer felt so clean. I felt dirty. "Perfect. You look beautiful." He told me this but was it really true? The thought seemed silly, but I couldn't get it out of my head. Why wouldn't he say he liked my hair? Did it look awful? Was I no longer beautiful to him?

"This is the one. Smile." He told me. So I grinned a happy grin, and he did the same, taking the photo before helping me down from the bench. Shawn kissed me hard, enveloping his body with my own. He spun me around and moved my hair out of my face, staring into my lively blue eyes. "You look beautiful with short hair." And that was it. That was all it took. I should have known I wasn't getting better. When he spoke those words to me everything was okay. I no longer felt dirty, or gross, I was simply his; that was how I liked it.

And then he bought me a strawberry cone with blue sprinkles, to match my eyes. It was when he spoke of his family, what they had been through and why he moved out, that I said I loved him. Shawn's throat ran dry. He looked disturbed. "I love you." I told him. He said nothing. It was foolish of me to admit that to him at such a vulnerable moment. I just couldn't help it. I knew I loved him and wanted him to know.

"Don't you love me?" I asked, afraid. My hand shook lightly at the sound of the wind. My heart pounded in my chest as I awaited a reply. Then, ever so slowly, Shawn nodded his head, clearing his throat and his thoughts, he said: "Yes. I do. I love you." That was the problem.