Never Love Again.
Mrs Lovett had always been a charming lady, a pretty girl before that and a wonderful child before that. Men had always seemed to notice it. She had always been conscious of their stares and looks, and the way they constantly seemed to be around her, and she began to notice the way her presence influenced men. Their voices grew deeper, their hands seemed to be reaching to touch her, caressing her cheek or holding her by a shoulder, their eyes- their attention seemed to be totally concentrated on her.
Well, she was conscious of that. It had never worried her or bothered her in any way. Actually, it was the very contrary. She liked attention, she liked to have eyes pointed on her, she liked it.
She was conscious of being beautiful. She was never one of those tall, delicate blondes that seemed to be goddesses fallen on earth , she was beautiful, human wise. Her eyes were shiny and her hair, well, her hair was always a mess, untameable and wild but so beautiful, with that red shine in it and the curls that fell down to the end of her back. Nellie Lovett was quite a beauty indeed.
She was self conscious too, she couldn't help but give herself a little stare as she passed by a mirror or a water puddle on the ground. She knew the reaction she caused in men but she knew the limit. She knew when to stop a hand that was slowly sliding down her back or a stare that was falling from her eyes to meet her chest, often much too bare.
She liked the attention but feared it still, she needed attention but still she feared what men would, could ask back.
She thought her father would have protected her, she knew he would, no one, none of those unknown and charming gentlemen would ever get to her, without her wanting it, of course. She loved him for it, for being there.
She hugged him tight that night, thanking him for just being there, and he hugged back, telling her that no one would ever harm her, he was there.
It was not true.
Someone would have harmed her and he would be very much around.
His hand fell slowly down her back "What? Cant a father cuddle his daughter?". He cuddled her, he did, and she hoped he had never done so.
That day she lied on her back, arms and legs straight, looking at the ceiling. Her mind blank. Her body felt like it wasn't hers anymore. It wasn't. "You are mine" he'd told her, laying mercilessly over her, hands fiddling with her skirts. There was love in his voice. Not a father to daughter love. A love that made his voice grow low and his hands move frantically. More of a predator to pray love.
Mrs Lovett was never, ever going to be a pray anymore. She would never love again.
This COULD be my first attempt of non-oneshot fiction... Should I go on?
Please review, you should see my face when I see a new review on :D
I still haven't grown to be a mothertongue so please spot out grammar errors for me...please grins
Anyway...fresh pies for whoever reviews.
ABloodyWonder