(you can also read this story here)
The first time I saw you I choked. You were staring, but not in a threatening, creepy way, like the way that one-guy stares at the girl in that damn book everyone tells me I need to read. You stared at me in a sort of shock, and I felt my heart leap into my throat, where I choked on it. You didn't notice because I've gotten better at covering up my emotions, and even if you did I don't think it would have stopped you from staring. Nothing was going to stop you from staring.
I stared back, briefly. Not in the same manner in which you stared at me. To stare that same way you did would require some sort of intrigue and hope for the future, and I was past that. I hadn't felt anything in months, and I wasn't planning on feeling anything again, maybe ever.
Two weeks went by before I saw you again, staring. You were sitting in the same chair, in the same lecture hall, with those same piercing eyes. This time my heart didn't move and I didn't stare back. Part of me hoped it would create that same intrigue I saw in you the first day. Part of me wished you would just go away. All of me was scared.
That day you came over to my house stumbling through the door, I was scared again. Scared you would do something to me, something to you, or something to both of us. But you didn't. You just lay there, on my make-up stained couch, head in my lap with your hands covering your beautiful brown eyes. My hands shook as they stroked your thick hair. You blamed it on the medicine, and getting old. You told me about her, how she broke you, and made you the way you are now. I just listened and felt sorry because I had been there.
I'm sick, you said, and I just stared back, brows knit together in frustration because that was all I could get from you. You suggested we run off to Spain together so I could kiss you there because I didn't want to kiss you here on the couch. Let's go, let's buy the plane tickets now, you said. I almost believed you.
That night you told me that there was a story to be written about me, and you took my face in your hands and kissed it. You kissed me longer and harder than I ever thought possible and when you were done kissing, you took me in your arms, and we lay on the couch in silence. For a second, I remembered what it was like to want something.
And then you kissed me goodbye. You said you would call me. You said you wouldn’t forget. I watched you get in your car and drive away, and then I waited.
You forgot.
The first time I saw you I choked. You were staring, but not in a threatening, creepy way, like the way that one-guy stares at the girl in that damn book everyone tells me I need to read. You stared at me in a sort of shock, and I felt my heart leap into my throat, where I choked on it. You didn't notice because I've gotten better at covering up my emotions, and even if you did I don't think it would have stopped you from staring. Nothing was going to stop you from staring.
I stared back, briefly. Not in the same manner in which you stared at me. To stare that same way you did would require some sort of intrigue and hope for the future, and I was past that. I hadn't felt anything in months, and I wasn't planning on feeling anything again, maybe ever.
Two weeks went by before I saw you again, staring. You were sitting in the same chair, in the same lecture hall, with those same piercing eyes. This time my heart didn't move and I didn't stare back. Part of me hoped it would create that same intrigue I saw in you the first day. Part of me wished you would just go away. All of me was scared.
That day you came over to my house stumbling through the door, I was scared again. Scared you would do something to me, something to you, or something to both of us. But you didn't. You just lay there, on my make-up stained couch, head in my lap with your hands covering your beautiful brown eyes. My hands shook as they stroked your thick hair. You blamed it on the medicine, and getting old. You told me about her, how she broke you, and made you the way you are now. I just listened and felt sorry because I had been there.
I'm sick, you said, and I just stared back, brows knit together in frustration because that was all I could get from you. You suggested we run off to Spain together so I could kiss you there because I didn't want to kiss you here on the couch. Let's go, let's buy the plane tickets now, you said. I almost believed you.
That night you told me that there was a story to be written about me, and you took my face in your hands and kissed it. You kissed me longer and harder than I ever thought possible and when you were done kissing, you took me in your arms, and we lay on the couch in silence. For a second, I remembered what it was like to want something.
And then you kissed me goodbye. You said you would call me. You said you wouldn’t forget. I watched you get in your car and drive away, and then I waited.
You forgot.
Bailey, that was really well written. I am truly impressed! I hope I'll get to read more of your writing in the near future.
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