Written for Shira Lansys' Word Count Drabble Challenge, in which you get a random exact word count to meet.
Umbrella, forgotten, Dominique
She loves him because he sees her for her. Dominique is used to being the forgotten one. The middle child, the cousin who will always be second oldest. She's fully used to being overlooked in her family.
And then the rest of the world over-looks in a whole different way – those looks that linger just a little too long. And Domi is forgotten in lieu of the goddess that inhabits that body, and no one really sees just Dominique.
No one, that is, except for him. She watches him watching her, and she knows. She knows without having to say a word that he is seeing all of her – outside and in. And when he whispers, I can't get you off my mind, Domi, she thinks that it might just be impossible for her to feel forgotten ever again, because he is promising that he will never forget her, ever.
With him, she is free to be just Domi, and that's really all she's ever wanted, isn't it? She is free to opt for jeans over a dress every day, if that's what she wants, because he says that she's beautiful, no matter what. She is free to dance in the rain – no umbrella necessary – and let her mascara run in streaks down her face, because he has never cared, and she feels safe in the knowledge that he'll be right there, dancing with her.
And after the waltz is over, Dominique wants to collapse on the ground in the mud and make mud angels, but before she can, he is on one knee in front of her, and all she can say is yes.