Claire Novak (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
affirmation) wrote2010-09-30 05:52 pm
affirmation) wrote2010-09-30 05:52 pm
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
justprompts: Same
Technically, Claire knew she was the same person she had been.
(Although that was complicated, and had been ever since she woke up in the morning after demons and angels had stormed her world, returning and sweeping her father away from her again, granting her knowledge that she couldn't even compass, taking away her last shreds of normalcy and her mother, even if a lot of that took a while to sink in.)
But she knew it was. Things had happened and were happening, but they were happening to everybody, and others didn't seem to be feeling like strangers in their own skin.
Well, some of her schoolmates did. Which made sense with what they'd learned in science/biology (and other additional) classes. No, actually - in her mind, she knew sort of what was happening. Or more than sort of. Physically growing up. The getting taller had always been happening, obviously. The other changes...
She was certain they were supposed to end up nice. It was hard to figure out how, but supposedly everybody went through puberty, which means even the awesome looking adults had to have, right? The women who were graceful and pretty and charming, or large and imposing and their own kind of beautiful. The strong men and the beanpoles... well, she wasn't going to turn into one of them, so. But, really. Going from girl to woman was a pain.
She didn't break out - much - at least, but her face looked... strange. Especially if she'd been looking at old pictures, or looked in the mirror while holding Josh, or something. His face was changing a bit, too, but nowhere near as much as hers seemed to be.
And then there were... boobs.
Nobody warned those were sensitive, and even worse when they were growing up. Or that even the most comfortable and soft and nice bras chafed. Not that she was getting that much in the area, but it was enough to warrant some... containment. And that didn't feel nice at all.
Or periods. That didn't hurt, and - between growing up around her mom and spending some of her free time around a hospital and doctors - she knew exactly what was going on. But it made her feel icky, unpleasant. Unpretty, too, but she'd learned enough about appearance and its importance. Or lack of it. Some ways. She hadn't had that many of those yet, anyway.
Or just the way that, even though she'd been growing up all her life, right now she felt all ... weird in her body. Like it was difficult to control her limbs the way she was used to, or they just... moved in different ways and she didn't know where her fingers would end up if she swung her arm or something like that. It was frustrating, and she really hated jostling things or upsetting them or dropping them to the floor with elbows or knees or hips.
And naturally, the worst were the mood swings. She hate, hate, hated those. The slightest thing could have her in fits of laughter, or running off to hide tears that she knew the person who said or did something didn't mean to cause or didn't deserve. (Or didn't deserve the gratification of seeing. Although that wasn't too often Claire's line of thinking.) The good part was that it wasn't often that bad, or obvious. But she knew. Maybe some of her classmates were way less aware and they laughed or made little of when they were taught that it was one of the effects of - their age, but she'd seen enough of herself from a wholly different perspective, and she knew.
A small part of her occasionally reminded, in her mind, that it was a developmental stage in which her body was kind of a little bit catching up with the growing... spurt that the rest of her underwent that night.
But that didn't help her when she was irked or frustrated or just strange, being herself. And that happened a lot right now.
Ugh.
She started downstairs to get a drink of orange juice.
Then she slipped, and her bottom thudded down along the wooden steps before she managed to stop.
"Ouch."
And that.
Stupid puberty.
Fic, ~710 words
(Although that was complicated, and had been ever since she woke up in the morning after demons and angels had stormed her world, returning and sweeping her father away from her again, granting her knowledge that she couldn't even compass, taking away her last shreds of normalcy and her mother, even if a lot of that took a while to sink in.)
But she knew it was. Things had happened and were happening, but they were happening to everybody, and others didn't seem to be feeling like strangers in their own skin.
Well, some of her schoolmates did. Which made sense with what they'd learned in science/biology (and other additional) classes. No, actually - in her mind, she knew sort of what was happening. Or more than sort of. Physically growing up. The getting taller had always been happening, obviously. The other changes...
She was certain they were supposed to end up nice. It was hard to figure out how, but supposedly everybody went through puberty, which means even the awesome looking adults had to have, right? The women who were graceful and pretty and charming, or large and imposing and their own kind of beautiful. The strong men and the beanpoles... well, she wasn't going to turn into one of them, so. But, really. Going from girl to woman was a pain.
She didn't break out - much - at least, but her face looked... strange. Especially if she'd been looking at old pictures, or looked in the mirror while holding Josh, or something. His face was changing a bit, too, but nowhere near as much as hers seemed to be.
And then there were... boobs.
Nobody warned those were sensitive, and even worse when they were growing up. Or that even the most comfortable and soft and nice bras chafed. Not that she was getting that much in the area, but it was enough to warrant some... containment. And that didn't feel nice at all.
Or periods. That didn't hurt, and - between growing up around her mom and spending some of her free time around a hospital and doctors - she knew exactly what was going on. But it made her feel icky, unpleasant. Unpretty, too, but she'd learned enough about appearance and its importance. Or lack of it. Some ways. She hadn't had that many of those yet, anyway.
Or just the way that, even though she'd been growing up all her life, right now she felt all ... weird in her body. Like it was difficult to control her limbs the way she was used to, or they just... moved in different ways and she didn't know where her fingers would end up if she swung her arm or something like that. It was frustrating, and she really hated jostling things or upsetting them or dropping them to the floor with elbows or knees or hips.
And naturally, the worst were the mood swings. She hate, hate, hated those. The slightest thing could have her in fits of laughter, or running off to hide tears that she knew the person who said or did something didn't mean to cause or didn't deserve. (Or didn't deserve the gratification of seeing. Although that wasn't too often Claire's line of thinking.) The good part was that it wasn't often that bad, or obvious. But she knew. Maybe some of her classmates were way less aware and they laughed or made little of when they were taught that it was one of the effects of - their age, but she'd seen enough of herself from a wholly different perspective, and she knew.
A small part of her occasionally reminded, in her mind, that it was a developmental stage in which her body was kind of a little bit catching up with the growing... spurt that the rest of her underwent that night.
But that didn't help her when she was irked or frustrated or just strange, being herself. And that happened a lot right now.
Ugh.
She started downstairs to get a drink of orange juice.
Then she slipped, and her bottom thudded down along the wooden steps before she managed to stop.
"Ouch."
And that.
Stupid puberty.
Fic, ~710 words