Status: Completed
Strangers
One-shot.
I walk down the hall on my way to Pre-Calc... she hangs by the doorway, kissing her boyfriend. I realize with a start that my shirt is the same pattern as his, white-black plaid. I avert my eyes before I'm noticed, ducking into the room silently. Half the seats are already filled and the bell will be ringing soon, but still she lingers. She always seems to want one more kiss from him. They're so affectionate in public... it makes me wonder what they're like alone.
The bell finally sounds and she enters the room. Her Conversed feet make no sound at all against the tiles and she drops into the seat directly in front of me. She doesn't greet me, as she might've a lifetime ago. She says nothing at all. I don't expect her to.
I keep my eyes on last night's homework, trying not to be a creep and stare at her. You didn't stare at strangers when you were normal, and that's what we were now. Strangers. However, her voice suddenly calls the name we both share, and that voice is way too familiar to belong to a stranger. It's quiet... gentle. Like somewhere inside her she knows she has the ability to break me. And today, she doesn't want to.
I look up helplessly, a combination of habit and instinctual desire forcing my head up to meet her eyes. I'd do anything for that voice. She's looking at me, and this knowledge alone makes me feel exposed. I wasn't wearing make-up today. I hadn't done my hair. I wasn't perfect, like she somehow was. I'd never understood it, and resented it somewhat... what made her perfect? Her hair was unkempt. The shirt she wore was wrinkled. And there was a blemish on her chin.
And yet somehow, inexplicably, this was all irrelevant to me. She was perfect. Just was.
She opens her mouth again, a cautious amount of friendliness in her brown eyes. Shit, I'd missed her looking at me like that. "I like your shirt," she says, an open smile warming her features.
With these four words, I melt. I'd been frozen for so long, stuck in a world where my best friend looked at me only to give me an icy glare or laugh coldly at my expense. It had been a year since she'd hugged me. Called me. Looked at me with any degree of warmth. It's pathetic, and I hate it, but she's the only thing that keeps me alive. Without her, I'd been withering.
My throat is bone-dry. "Thanks," I croak out, throwing a shaky smile back her way. I'd loved her once. I'd loved her and when I told her, she'd smashed my heart.
The rumors had been inescapable. Everywhere I went, the words "lesbian" and "dyke" were tossed casually across the air. I cried myself to sleep for months.
But then she'd come back. Said she was sorry. Said she was only scared, and that she had feelings for me as well. And after I'd sobbed into her shirt for an hour straight, spilling my guts, she'd laughed and said it was all a joke. That I was pathetic.
The innocence in her eyes now looks real enough... but it had then, too. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to make conversation with her. Jump back into the easy friendship we'd had so long ago. It was unrequited, and undeserved, but I loved her with all my heart. I felt feverish at the thought of being close to her again.
I open my math book with shaking fingers. My jaw is clenched. I stare down at the pages, fighting against the unintelligent heart in my chest that wanted to forgive her for everything.
She doesn't say another word.
The bell finally sounds and she enters the room. Her Conversed feet make no sound at all against the tiles and she drops into the seat directly in front of me. She doesn't greet me, as she might've a lifetime ago. She says nothing at all. I don't expect her to.
I keep my eyes on last night's homework, trying not to be a creep and stare at her. You didn't stare at strangers when you were normal, and that's what we were now. Strangers. However, her voice suddenly calls the name we both share, and that voice is way too familiar to belong to a stranger. It's quiet... gentle. Like somewhere inside her she knows she has the ability to break me. And today, she doesn't want to.
I look up helplessly, a combination of habit and instinctual desire forcing my head up to meet her eyes. I'd do anything for that voice. She's looking at me, and this knowledge alone makes me feel exposed. I wasn't wearing make-up today. I hadn't done my hair. I wasn't perfect, like she somehow was. I'd never understood it, and resented it somewhat... what made her perfect? Her hair was unkempt. The shirt she wore was wrinkled. And there was a blemish on her chin.
And yet somehow, inexplicably, this was all irrelevant to me. She was perfect. Just was.
She opens her mouth again, a cautious amount of friendliness in her brown eyes. Shit, I'd missed her looking at me like that. "I like your shirt," she says, an open smile warming her features.
With these four words, I melt. I'd been frozen for so long, stuck in a world where my best friend looked at me only to give me an icy glare or laugh coldly at my expense. It had been a year since she'd hugged me. Called me. Looked at me with any degree of warmth. It's pathetic, and I hate it, but she's the only thing that keeps me alive. Without her, I'd been withering.
My throat is bone-dry. "Thanks," I croak out, throwing a shaky smile back her way. I'd loved her once. I'd loved her and when I told her, she'd smashed my heart.
The rumors had been inescapable. Everywhere I went, the words "lesbian" and "dyke" were tossed casually across the air. I cried myself to sleep for months.
But then she'd come back. Said she was sorry. Said she was only scared, and that she had feelings for me as well. And after I'd sobbed into her shirt for an hour straight, spilling my guts, she'd laughed and said it was all a joke. That I was pathetic.
The innocence in her eyes now looks real enough... but it had then, too. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to make conversation with her. Jump back into the easy friendship we'd had so long ago. It was unrequited, and undeserved, but I loved her with all my heart. I felt feverish at the thought of being close to her again.
I open my math book with shaking fingers. My jaw is clenched. I stare down at the pages, fighting against the unintelligent heart in my chest that wanted to forgive her for everything.
She doesn't say another word.