He had her from the get-go.

Tall and muscled and the star of the track team, he was in prime position to steal her away just because she was beautiful and he wanted to show off. Of course I should have learned not to be so angry -- I should have realized I didn't actually want this girl if she went along with it. (Oh, and she did. So many times I'd walk through the corridors at that high school to see her leaning against him with that dumb giggle in her face, "look what I have and you don't.)

I had known that girl for four years. Her parents worked with mine and we were always neatly categorized together, despite the fact that she wore Abercrombie and I lived in my black hoodie. She ran the halls with minions of silly blondes and I,
I just fell in love with her.
It was hard enough being around her to begin with but he, he made it worse.

Of all the girls in the school I was probably the only one who was jealous of him. I knew she probably didn't want me; probably thought I was disgusting; probably didn't want me to exist. I knew he didn't know. I know he would have pounded me into the ground if he'd noticed.

But that day when I found her crying against her locker, instinct took over. I couldn't help but ask her what was wrong. I comforted her and walked her to class, late, when everyone would turn around and see her tear-stained face and she might stammer, "I-I'm sorry, I was at my locker..." and all her ex-boyfriend's friends would sit in the back and make sophomoric jokes about it.

I saw him again. Many times -- well, he was hard to avoid; he owned that building. I was furious at him. I fell in love with this girl. I treated her ten times better and we only talked four times. (I know the dates, have them written in a notebook in my room.)

She didn't talk to me a lot after that but many times I was recipient of her smile. The happiest smile in the world. So fuck off, Trackstar. I fell in love with her first.

filling an interesting nodeshell with a snippet of bad fiction. my life is fulfilled.

He had no idea that night what she had really done, even seeing the photos in the morning, he struggled to believe. She smiled deliriously at a man orangey-brown hair before they kissed. They were both drunk, everyone was drunk. But he wasn't drunk. He stared at the photos, knowing why he had never kissed her. He wished he were drunk like them. She had lied to him, she had been angry he had even suggested there might be someone else, but here was all the proof he needed. Here was this guy, arms around her in a way he had never dared hold her, their lips in a luscious lock. She had claimed to be taking some time to herself to think that night.

*pshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh* The hailstorm assaulting the Alsynite roof of the verandah outside his window temporarily obliterated all thought. He turned to watch the relentless but fleeting dents in the material, knowing they could just as easily have been his own tears. The hail subsided, and from the corner of is eye he saw her photo, pinned above his desk, the only photo of her he had had at the time. The air in his room was 14 degrees, warmer than normal, but he shivered. He had never wanted to let her go, she had demanded he release her. He felt sick to his stomach, he knew he should eat before he left, but he did not want to eat, nor could he digest anything if he tried.

He found some pants, they were still damp from washing, but they were only going to get more wet outside anyway. As he stepped outside, his foot caught clumsily on the doormat, sending him sprawling into the slushy mud. He grunted, and glared at the mat. His bus was late, or early, he never knew with it, and he stood there in the heavy rain for half an hour waiting. Three stops later, she got on. He wanted to say something, he wanted to be angry, to be happy, to feel something, but he could feel nothing but a complete inability to think. The bus was full, and the seat beside him was the only one free. She approached, and half began to sit down, before she realised it was him. Their eyes met in an icy stare, and her movements froze. She turned to get back up again, but his voice interrupted, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

She drew a deep breath, "I don't love you any more, we are over."

"You told me there was no room for anyone in your life," he grated through his teeth. Inside he wondered if she would ever really come anywhere close to understanding what he felt, and whether or not anyone else would ever really love her.

"Would you please just leave me alone."

He steadied himself. "Louise, before you go, I want you to know that I will still always love you."

"I know." She walked back down the aisle to stand for the rest of the trip.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.