The Betrayal

Theirs was not the kind of home one would assume was broken; no, it was really quite quaint, with the white picket fence and daises in the window boxes. Pale green shutters framed wooden windows, made from a white birch that annoyed their more traditional neighbor whom had to pass the five miles between the houses on his commutes into town. The house itself was painted a pretty beige color, a little warmer than tea with just the right amount of milk; the grass outside was always the right length and always the right shade; the sycamore tree never swayed unbecomingly and it's leaves always grew up and away, like the mind of the individual living in the room with the window on the right side. When the sun rose, his whole room was covered in gold, and suddenly he was anywhere but the place he wanted so badly to leave behind.

Johnny Sullivan was the kind of boy with big dreams that sprouted from unidentified origins. His life seemingly perfect; 16 year old honor student, grades never below an A, numerous friends that frequented the cornfield behind his house - the perfect spot to get drunk – and a healthy amount of girls trekking through his home daily. With his dirty blonde hair that swept just so across his deep blue eyes and a body fit and lean from numerous school sports, he was certainly a candidate for the heartthrob of the school. One could never guess things were ever less than perfect when it came to Johnny Sullivan; and for the longest time, they were pretty perfect.

I didn’t get him in the end. I would have loved him like no other had. I would have been his everything, I know this. Unfortunately, they had other plans.