Status: oneshot.
She's A Lady
1/1
I'm in love with a girl I hate,
She enjoys pointing out
every bad thing about me
I'm in love with a critic and a skeptic.
I'd trade her, I'd trade her in a second.
“Joseph.” Her voice was cold and cruel, and I knew from the tone she was smirking. I turned around reluctantly.
“What, Bridget?” I snapped, folding my arms. I was right. Her smirk became more defiant as she looked me over once more.
“You look awful today.”
“Same to you.” I shot back. This was normal. We would see each other in the hallway, criticize each other, and move on. But there was something different there. Every time I would see her, there was a part of me that wanted to stop the pretenses. There were moments I just wanted to stop the insults and wrap my arms around her, never let her go.
But that would ruin everything, so I didn’t.
She's a backseat driver,
A drama provider,
an instant update of the world
She’s a first class liar,
a constant forgetter
(she's attractive, but bitter)
The thing about Bridget was that she would always start something. She would always want to be in the middle of whatever she could. No one really understood why she wanted to, but they just let her be. She was pretty, and she could lie her way into any situation. No one wanted to get in her way, so they just let her be.
I used to want to understand her secrets. I used to listen to her conversations to see if there was something there that would unravel the mystery that was Bridget, but I stopped. She was so convincing in her lies that she hated me that I started believing her.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around,
turn around baby,
don't return to me,
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
But one day I figured her out. We lived pretty close to each other, so our paths would occasionally cross when we would go outside at the same time. That one lucky day (or unlucky, I suppose) I was sitting outside on my back porch. She ran out of her house, a trash bag in one hand, the other a fist.
“Don’t talk to me!” She shouted, her dark hair flapping around widely.
“Don’t talk to me like that young lady!” A deep male voice shouted from the house, obviously angry. I sat back, not wanting to be seen. Bridget threw the trash bag into the silver can, and she stayed there, obviously not wanting to go into the house. A man, big and tall, came lumbering out of the house towards her.
“Are you coming back inside?” He growled. She didn’t turn around.
“No.”
“Fine. Stay on the streets. See if I care.” He yelled, turning around and slamming the door.
She was oddly quiet for the moment. It was the most quiet I had ever seen her. She was normally bubbling over with words.
Then I noticed she was crying. I wanted to go help her, but I was stuck in internal conflict. I didn’t know if she wanted my help.
So I sat there, helpless, watching the girl I loved and hated cry.
She's a lady,
And ladies
shouldn't be messed with.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with.
When she was finished, she dried her eyes, looking around to make sure no one saw. I shrunk back into the porch, hiding. I felt pathetic, but I didn’t want her to feel more awful than she already looked.
No one deserved that kind of treatment.
Take off your shoes,
Come in the room,
And baby let's try not to argue,
Turn out the lights,
Turn on the radio,
How can we fight when I'm too busy loving you,
I'm too busy loving you
I'm too busy loving you
“No one is around, Bridget, you can drop the act.” I said, looking over at her. She looked around quickly before relaxing. She moved closer to me, holding onto my arm.
“Sorry, Joseph.” She said, looking up at me.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I said, smiling down at her.
A few days after she got into a fight with the large man (who I later learned was her father), I approached her. I told her what I saw, and braced myself for her anger. Instead, she thanked me. She said she was glad that I hadn’t said anything. We talked a lot after that. I got so comfortable around her that I blurted out my secret.
I told her I loved her.
She didn’t say anything. She merely kissed me, stood up, and walked away. Since then, we had pretended that nothing had transpired between us, but when no one was around, we were inseparable.
“Are we going to your place tonight?” She asked, bringing me out of my thoughts. I nodded.
“My mom has this charity thing. We’ll have enough time for a movie.” I said, kissing her temple.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around,
turn around baby,
don't return to me.
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
She hadn’t told me how things were going at home, though. She never talked about it. Every time it was brought up, she would stop talking. I learned not to bring it up, but I still worried.
I could hear the shouting from my room, and I lived two houses down. I wanted to ask if he hit her, but she wouldn’t have said anything.
That bothered me most. I figured we could talk to each other, but she wouldn’t tell me anything.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with.
We made it to my house with no issues, and I started the movie. We sat on the couch, her head resting on my shoulder. There was nothing wrong. We were perfectly and contently happy, and I wouldn’t let anything ruin it.
I felt it was my job to protect her. Like I said, she was a lady, and ladies shouldn’t be messed with.
Here I am,
There you go again,
again
And we will not ever be eighteen again, again
And I'm worn out of fighting,
And every night you leave crying,
And I could use some time.
And here I am,
There you go again. (again)
It was four weeks after we had started secretly seeing each other. Things were going bad.
We continued fighting. She would run out of the house in tears every night. That was the first sign that something was wrong. The only reason we fought was of the bruises on her arms and shoulders.
I knew it was her dad. I knew it, and I asked her. She wouldn’t tell me, and we got into screaming matches about it. I constantly told her I wanted to protect her and I couldn’t do that if she kept secrets.
The last night, she told me it was none of my business.
I told her it was because I loved her.
She yelled that no one could ever love her broken shell, and she stormed out, tears streaming down her face.
I fell onto the couch, rubbing my eyes. This was too much.
So here I am I'm dying,
And I'm waiting for you,
waiting for you.
Come back, come back to me,
And I'll take you gladly.
And I'll take you where to go.
The day of her funeral, it rained. I knew she would have liked that. She always wanted the weather to match the mood, and there was plenty of sadness.
The day I found out was the worst day of my life. The police asked me if I knew her.
Did I know her? Of course I did. I told them everything I knew.
I kept waiting for her to come back. I kept waiting for her to show up with that smirk I knew so well and tell me that I looked awful today. I kept waiting for her to show up on my doorstep, telling me that she was so proud of this stunt she pulled, that it was the best yet.
But she didn’t.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around,
turn around baby.
don't return to me,
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
At her funeral, there were a lot of people from our school. As mean as she could have been, she was still loved. No one understood why I was there. I could see it in their faces. I knew I belonged there. It was partially my fault she was about to go six feet under the ground, because I couldn’t keep her safe.
I wondered what it could have been that didn’t make her trust me. Sometimes I thought it was because she really didn’t like me, that I was just a toy. But I knew that wasn’t true.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around turn around baby, don't return to me.
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
Her dad wasn’t at her funeral. Not that I minded, if he had showed up I probably would have knocked him out. This was his fault. My Bridget wasn’t coming back. I wouldn’t ever see her smile, her eyes, her bright snappy voice again. Everything was gone. I would never get her back.
I cried. A lot. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I cried. I couldn’t help it.
Her father was arrested three weeks after her funeral. The autopsy said that she was beaten and strangled to death, and the fingerprints matched his. He was taken into custody, and was assigned life in prison. No bail, no parole.
I should have felt good about this, but it didn’t lessen the pain any. People never understood why I was crying at her funeral. We were better liars than we thought.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with
Shes a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with
She enjoys pointing out
every bad thing about me
I'm in love with a critic and a skeptic.
I'd trade her, I'd trade her in a second.
“Joseph.” Her voice was cold and cruel, and I knew from the tone she was smirking. I turned around reluctantly.
“What, Bridget?” I snapped, folding my arms. I was right. Her smirk became more defiant as she looked me over once more.
“You look awful today.”
“Same to you.” I shot back. This was normal. We would see each other in the hallway, criticize each other, and move on. But there was something different there. Every time I would see her, there was a part of me that wanted to stop the pretenses. There were moments I just wanted to stop the insults and wrap my arms around her, never let her go.
But that would ruin everything, so I didn’t.
She's a backseat driver,
A drama provider,
an instant update of the world
She’s a first class liar,
a constant forgetter
(she's attractive, but bitter)
The thing about Bridget was that she would always start something. She would always want to be in the middle of whatever she could. No one really understood why she wanted to, but they just let her be. She was pretty, and she could lie her way into any situation. No one wanted to get in her way, so they just let her be.
I used to want to understand her secrets. I used to listen to her conversations to see if there was something there that would unravel the mystery that was Bridget, but I stopped. She was so convincing in her lies that she hated me that I started believing her.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around,
turn around baby,
don't return to me,
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
But one day I figured her out. We lived pretty close to each other, so our paths would occasionally cross when we would go outside at the same time. That one lucky day (or unlucky, I suppose) I was sitting outside on my back porch. She ran out of her house, a trash bag in one hand, the other a fist.
“Don’t talk to me!” She shouted, her dark hair flapping around widely.
“Don’t talk to me like that young lady!” A deep male voice shouted from the house, obviously angry. I sat back, not wanting to be seen. Bridget threw the trash bag into the silver can, and she stayed there, obviously not wanting to go into the house. A man, big and tall, came lumbering out of the house towards her.
“Are you coming back inside?” He growled. She didn’t turn around.
“No.”
“Fine. Stay on the streets. See if I care.” He yelled, turning around and slamming the door.
She was oddly quiet for the moment. It was the most quiet I had ever seen her. She was normally bubbling over with words.
Then I noticed she was crying. I wanted to go help her, but I was stuck in internal conflict. I didn’t know if she wanted my help.
So I sat there, helpless, watching the girl I loved and hated cry.
She's a lady,
And ladies
shouldn't be messed with.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with.
When she was finished, she dried her eyes, looking around to make sure no one saw. I shrunk back into the porch, hiding. I felt pathetic, but I didn’t want her to feel more awful than she already looked.
No one deserved that kind of treatment.
Take off your shoes,
Come in the room,
And baby let's try not to argue,
Turn out the lights,
Turn on the radio,
How can we fight when I'm too busy loving you,
I'm too busy loving you
I'm too busy loving you
“No one is around, Bridget, you can drop the act.” I said, looking over at her. She looked around quickly before relaxing. She moved closer to me, holding onto my arm.
“Sorry, Joseph.” She said, looking up at me.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I said, smiling down at her.
A few days after she got into a fight with the large man (who I later learned was her father), I approached her. I told her what I saw, and braced myself for her anger. Instead, she thanked me. She said she was glad that I hadn’t said anything. We talked a lot after that. I got so comfortable around her that I blurted out my secret.
I told her I loved her.
She didn’t say anything. She merely kissed me, stood up, and walked away. Since then, we had pretended that nothing had transpired between us, but when no one was around, we were inseparable.
“Are we going to your place tonight?” She asked, bringing me out of my thoughts. I nodded.
“My mom has this charity thing. We’ll have enough time for a movie.” I said, kissing her temple.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around,
turn around baby,
don't return to me.
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
She hadn’t told me how things were going at home, though. She never talked about it. Every time it was brought up, she would stop talking. I learned not to bring it up, but I still worried.
I could hear the shouting from my room, and I lived two houses down. I wanted to ask if he hit her, but she wouldn’t have said anything.
That bothered me most. I figured we could talk to each other, but she wouldn’t tell me anything.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with.
We made it to my house with no issues, and I started the movie. We sat on the couch, her head resting on my shoulder. There was nothing wrong. We were perfectly and contently happy, and I wouldn’t let anything ruin it.
I felt it was my job to protect her. Like I said, she was a lady, and ladies shouldn’t be messed with.
Here I am,
There you go again,
again
And we will not ever be eighteen again, again
And I'm worn out of fighting,
And every night you leave crying,
And I could use some time.
And here I am,
There you go again. (again)
It was four weeks after we had started secretly seeing each other. Things were going bad.
We continued fighting. She would run out of the house in tears every night. That was the first sign that something was wrong. The only reason we fought was of the bruises on her arms and shoulders.
I knew it was her dad. I knew it, and I asked her. She wouldn’t tell me, and we got into screaming matches about it. I constantly told her I wanted to protect her and I couldn’t do that if she kept secrets.
The last night, she told me it was none of my business.
I told her it was because I loved her.
She yelled that no one could ever love her broken shell, and she stormed out, tears streaming down her face.
I fell onto the couch, rubbing my eyes. This was too much.
So here I am I'm dying,
And I'm waiting for you,
waiting for you.
Come back, come back to me,
And I'll take you gladly.
And I'll take you where to go.
The day of her funeral, it rained. I knew she would have liked that. She always wanted the weather to match the mood, and there was plenty of sadness.
The day I found out was the worst day of my life. The police asked me if I knew her.
Did I know her? Of course I did. I told them everything I knew.
I kept waiting for her to come back. I kept waiting for her to show up with that smirk I knew so well and tell me that I looked awful today. I kept waiting for her to show up on my doorstep, telling me that she was so proud of this stunt she pulled, that it was the best yet.
But she didn’t.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around,
turn around baby.
don't return to me,
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
At her funeral, there were a lot of people from our school. As mean as she could have been, she was still loved. No one understood why I was there. I could see it in their faces. I knew I belonged there. It was partially my fault she was about to go six feet under the ground, because I couldn’t keep her safe.
I wondered what it could have been that didn’t make her trust me. Sometimes I thought it was because she really didn’t like me, that I was just a toy. But I knew that wasn’t true.
Did you scream enough to make her cry,
To turn around turn around baby, don't return to me.
If you think that I'm not worth your time.
Her dad wasn’t at her funeral. Not that I minded, if he had showed up I probably would have knocked him out. This was his fault. My Bridget wasn’t coming back. I wouldn’t ever see her smile, her eyes, her bright snappy voice again. Everything was gone. I would never get her back.
I cried. A lot. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I cried. I couldn’t help it.
Her father was arrested three weeks after her funeral. The autopsy said that she was beaten and strangled to death, and the fingerprints matched his. He was taken into custody, and was assigned life in prison. No bail, no parole.
I should have felt good about this, but it didn’t lessen the pain any. People never understood why I was crying at her funeral. We were better liars than we thought.
She's a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with
Shes a lady,
And ladies,
shouldn't be messed with