Because You Said Forever
Part 06
Nick's P.o.V
I slam my door shut, turning around to face the room. I take a deep breath and let it out as a small sob, shuffling over to my bed and floping down on it. I hug one of my pillows and sink my head into the blue pillowcase, breathing muffled as I can't stop crying. Not because what Joe said was mean, but because I know it's true.
I lift my head off the pillow and glance over at the tall mirror propped against the wall. I can see myself in it from here. Stupid ugly brown eyes, stupid ugly freckles. I glare at my reflection as I start pointing out to myself every aspect of what's wrong with it. Unevenly leveled eyes, too-thin eyebrows, hiddeous freckles, ugly long curly hair, nose too big, grossly colored eyes. I grab the pillow and hurl it at the mirror, making it bang against the wall and then fall forward, crashing onto the floor.
I press my face into the pillow, already feeling the dampness on the fabric and on my cheeks. I know what Joe said was true. He's always right. I don't deserve him, and he deserves someone as beautiful as Damien. I've been jealous of that boy for so long, for having Joe. I don't want to have to share him, but Joe deserves more than just me. Damien's so amazingly beautiful, and any idiot could see why Joe's attracted to him. He's got a perfect Ryan Seacrest-type dark spiky haircut and beautiful skin. His freckles actually compliment his eyes and look amazing on him, while I'm cursed with the ugly ones. Any girl or guy Joe's ever brought home has been more beautiful than me.
"Nickie?" I hear a vwey faint knock on my door and an even fainter call.
"Go away," I mutter loudly, my voice muffled by the pillow. Another knock on my window and then the door opens, and Joe steps into my room.
"Nickie, are you okay?" he whispers, sitting down on the bed next to me. "I'm so sorry, Nickie. I'm so sorry for yelling at you." he lies down next to me. My body tenses up as the bed sinks and I feel Joe's warm hand on my arm. I want to shove it away, but instead I only try to get my crying under control. He sides one arm under me and drapes the other one over me, pulling me close to him. I want to shove him away and slide out of his arms, and just sink into the matress and let it swallow me.
"Nickie, look. Can I tell you something?" he asks softly. I don't give him any sign of an answer, so he keeps talking. "Before I left Damein's..." he pauses. Oh great, Joe, Damien again. "we got in a fight. A big one. And we... we broke up."
When he says that, at first I honestly feel no sympathy for him. But I roll over and face him. "Oh. I'm sorry," I mutter. I of all people know how it is to get dumped. It feels awful. And looking at Joe's sad face, I know he feels terrible. I scoot closer to him and hug his chest. "I"m sorry, Joey. It's okay."
But once I start to be sympathetic, I start to remember the stuff he said to me, the stuff that, while it is true, he's always said to me. He always rubs it in my face. One night he'll be having dinner with me, kissing me and being a good boyfriend, and the next night he'll be out. I think he hates me sometimes. But I can't pull myself away from him, and I couldn't leave him if I wanted to.
"Please forgive me for what I said to you," me whimpers.
I utter "I do," even though my heart and brain say I don't. "I love you," I whisper and kiss him. And this is the truth, as much as it hurts.
I slam my door shut, turning around to face the room. I take a deep breath and let it out as a small sob, shuffling over to my bed and floping down on it. I hug one of my pillows and sink my head into the blue pillowcase, breathing muffled as I can't stop crying. Not because what Joe said was mean, but because I know it's true.
I lift my head off the pillow and glance over at the tall mirror propped against the wall. I can see myself in it from here. Stupid ugly brown eyes, stupid ugly freckles. I glare at my reflection as I start pointing out to myself every aspect of what's wrong with it. Unevenly leveled eyes, too-thin eyebrows, hiddeous freckles, ugly long curly hair, nose too big, grossly colored eyes. I grab the pillow and hurl it at the mirror, making it bang against the wall and then fall forward, crashing onto the floor.
I press my face into the pillow, already feeling the dampness on the fabric and on my cheeks. I know what Joe said was true. He's always right. I don't deserve him, and he deserves someone as beautiful as Damien. I've been jealous of that boy for so long, for having Joe. I don't want to have to share him, but Joe deserves more than just me. Damien's so amazingly beautiful, and any idiot could see why Joe's attracted to him. He's got a perfect Ryan Seacrest-type dark spiky haircut and beautiful skin. His freckles actually compliment his eyes and look amazing on him, while I'm cursed with the ugly ones. Any girl or guy Joe's ever brought home has been more beautiful than me.
"Nickie?" I hear a vwey faint knock on my door and an even fainter call.
"Go away," I mutter loudly, my voice muffled by the pillow. Another knock on my window and then the door opens, and Joe steps into my room.
"Nickie, are you okay?" he whispers, sitting down on the bed next to me. "I'm so sorry, Nickie. I'm so sorry for yelling at you." he lies down next to me. My body tenses up as the bed sinks and I feel Joe's warm hand on my arm. I want to shove it away, but instead I only try to get my crying under control. He sides one arm under me and drapes the other one over me, pulling me close to him. I want to shove him away and slide out of his arms, and just sink into the matress and let it swallow me.
"Nickie, look. Can I tell you something?" he asks softly. I don't give him any sign of an answer, so he keeps talking. "Before I left Damein's..." he pauses. Oh great, Joe, Damien again. "we got in a fight. A big one. And we... we broke up."
When he says that, at first I honestly feel no sympathy for him. But I roll over and face him. "Oh. I'm sorry," I mutter. I of all people know how it is to get dumped. It feels awful. And looking at Joe's sad face, I know he feels terrible. I scoot closer to him and hug his chest. "I"m sorry, Joey. It's okay."
But once I start to be sympathetic, I start to remember the stuff he said to me, the stuff that, while it is true, he's always said to me. He always rubs it in my face. One night he'll be having dinner with me, kissing me and being a good boyfriend, and the next night he'll be out. I think he hates me sometimes. But I can't pull myself away from him, and I couldn't leave him if I wanted to.
"Please forgive me for what I said to you," me whimpers.
I utter "I do," even though my heart and brain say I don't. "I love you," I whisper and kiss him. And this is the truth, as much as it hurts.