Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Footloose.
Ramblings with Ranger: I wrote this drabble a while back when I first saw the remake of Footloose and just now found it again. This drabble is based on the remake, though it almost also fits the original.
Eyes Are The Window
It wasn't his eyes that first drew her in. It wasn't his seductive smirk. No, it was none of those things – though they certainly helped.
It was his spirit, his character.
She was the preacher's daughter, someone to be held under the most scrutinizing microscopes. She had always tried to live up to the high standards – until the accident. After the accident, something inside her snapped. She couldn't be little-miss-goody-two-shoes anymore. She could feel the stress of it ripping and shredding her heart and soul.
So she rebelled.
She rebelled because it made her feel alive.
She rebelled because it eased her pain, if only for a fleeting moment.
She rebelled because her father told her not to.
But mostly, she rebelled because she could.
He was not like her, though. He perfectly walked the fine line between obedience and rebellion, meekness and courage, and politeness and honesty. He, too, rebelled, but he did it with a finesse that she lacked. He stood up for an injustice, but was still respectful of his peers and elders. He confronted it head on. She always shied away from confrontation, instead lashing out with a barbed comment before slamming her bedroom door.
She envied his courage.
He had the gumption that she did not have to stand up for her belief.
He was always the gentleman. A little rough-around-the-edges at times, but he was still a gentleman. He had always treated her like a queen. He had always respected her. He had even respected her father. Even when she practically threw herself at him, he had politely demurred. He made no bones about what he thought of her behavior, but he never made her feel like a dirt – not like Chuck did.
Many years later, she wondered what would have happened if she had mustered her courage and stood up in front of the council. Would she have ever met him? Would she have ever given him a chance? He always seemed to know when these thoughts entered her head, because he would smile and laugh before wrapping his toned arms around her body.
It didn't matter, she decided.
It didn't matter because she had met him.
It didn't matter because he had given her a chance.
It didn't matter because he had made an 'honest woman' out of her.
It didn't matter because they were happy.
And, really, wasn't that all she could ask for?