Self-Preservation

She carefully tied and retied the tee-shirt that tastefully draped across her breasts. Frowning, she readjusted herself, staring impassively at her own reflection with the expression of a woman who had seen too much in her short lifetime.

Her nipples were the least of it

God, the tops were too small; her breasts were too small. Everything was wrong, and there wasn't any way to fix things up.

She raked her nails through her mane; the color of dark blood, it fluttered about her head like lost flames in search of heaven. Her eyes fell to the script, then quickly down again; within it were orders for a skins match.

A skins match that she was scheduled to lose.

"You look a little down," the soft, squeaky voice of a woman who was set to become her rival echoed through the air, "I want to help...can I?"

She looked up from her breasts to see the tentatively poised figure of Dawn Marie standing in the doorway to the women's dressing room.

"I don't think so," Lita explained, then added, "I don't even really know you."

The sides of Dawn's mouth turned downward, "Well.." She placed a book upon the bench Lita shared with her duffel bag, "I've been reading this....it really helped me reconnect to who I am under..." She gestured toward her string bikini, then up and down, to indicate her body, "Underneath all of this."

Lita watched the young girl leave, embarrassment clearly etched upon her face. She would apologize later, in a less brusque mood.

But now she picked the book up and turned it over, reading the gilt gold title pressed into its binding.

It was a biography on the life of Frances Farmer.

***

For two weeks, Lita ignored this small gift that Dawn had given her, preferring to concentrate on the choreography of her matchset.

Matt remarked upon it as he watched her unload her duffel bag when they returned home that Wednesday.

"That about this nutjob actress?" He asked, "The one who had the lobotomy?"

She nodded, "Yes. Dawn gave it to me."

"Perfect; she already acts like she's had a lobotomy."

She smiled without meaning it.

****

Underneath an elm tree, she finally cracked the book open. Her heart had been as light as the shirt that covered her back; when she bowed her head, she had been the same person who worried weather her nipples lined up correctly in her blouse.

When she raised her head, the book finished quite another dwelled within her. Her eyes flashed with unrequited anger.

And she wanted change.



Go On