A Girl

He hated how her glasses looked.

He really did. The frame was too thick and it made her face look too round and chubby. He hated it. She hated it. Her lenses too! So round and thick, making her black eyes bulge out from beneath them. It irritated him to no end.

He also hated how she tied up her hair all the time. She looked horrible with tied hair; it made her look awkward looking and nerdy. She looked ugly with her hair up considering her dry curls were dead and edged with split ends.

He despised her.

"...s-sorry!" she muttered quickly while bumping into another occasional person and falling down on her butt. He scowled at her from afar, staring at her pathetic coward figure. Said person who was apologized to didn't even blink an eye to look down at the apologizing girl but blinked and carried away.

Composing herself she stood up, brushed her pants of any dust and ducked her head low walking away fast. He watched her with a scowl on his face, a frown lined on his forehead with veins bulging against his crystal blue eyes.

Everything, anything, everywhere! She was there, and here, and always around him. Lurking in his shadows, clearing out his vision, her voiced apologies tuning into his ears like vile words rolling off her tongue.

Anger.

He hated her. He hated her. A petty little sad soul lurking behind others who were happy and alive with they're lives. Though she carved that happy little smile against her lips, hiding away the salty water beneath apologies and masked emotions.

Pathetic.

She was a waste of a breath, a waste of a person, a waste of a life. She was born a nothing and will never be anything. A wallflower surrounded by shrouds of paintings and masterpieces. A lonely island only meant for her with the population: one.

He stood up and rubbed his head. A headache already forming at the back of his mind where all the water soaked up and unwanted nightmares hid away. He was thinking too hard — again.

It was all her fault, it always was. She was overweight, 16lbs to be exact. Starving herself in her room with the fan on high blast cooling the wall papered walls in the midst of a cold winter night. The angry pain surging through her body with quaking seizures of cold air cooling down her heated body.

She curled into a fetile position, clamping big flabby arms against her tummy embracing it in comfort. Singled tears streaming down her face as she hurled against her own will and swallowed the empty air.

Brown locks of malnutrition splattered all around her face, eyes hidden underneath the rivers of hair with hot sweat pouring down her body. Shaking cold shivers ran down her body with hungry growls crying out her stomach.

Fat, fat, fat.

That's all she ever thought about. Her imperfections, her flaws, her empty bowels of happiness. The walking skeletons taunting her in the hallways with there slim figures and beautiful faces. She caught in the middle of it all, trying eagerly too please society.

The motivation of starving eating away at her. She tried so hard. Weeks and weeks passing with living off water and cucumbers. Exhaustion thick on her eyes, dead hair wavering in her face, and thick rimmed glasses hanging loosely off her vacant, hollow face.

Her body withered beneath its own hunger, crying out too the brain for salvation. Her throat sore and dry with dehydration, with her hanging fats angry with all of her. She was a thing of...

"...nothing." he muttered, staring off at her cowering underneath a book with her nose pressed deep into the small printed words and bronze pages with a frown on her face as she pondered carefully through the books words.

He sat behind her in first period Band, second period Philosophy and forth period Gerontology. He watched her every move, he heard her every stomach growls in the midst of class when she would fidget with her body and squirm too with embarrassment scared that someone was watching her, but everyone would ignore her.

He watched when she would cry when the lights went off, or her desperate screams when the drums would play loudly in band. He would read the notes she'd drop in hallways that flew out from her knapsack. Numbers written in scribbles going lower and lower each day.

He always watched her.

He always waited for the right moment.

He was always ready.

"Hey." he said for the first time in his life.

She paused and looked up puzzled at the mysterious voice calling out too her, he stared blankly at her. "Umm...y-yes?" she muttered unsure of what too say or how too comprehend what just occurred.

"Look at me." he said monotonously.

Her bangs hid her eyes; which hid her away from the world as she bit her lip anxiously with her cheeks reddening. Shakily she tipped her head up and stared up with her big black eyes.

He was frazzled.

And at loss for words.

She quirked an eyebrow, "Um, are you okay?"

Loser.

He messed up.

It took seven long years too talk to her. "Huh? Oh uh, yeah, sorry thought you were someone else." he mumbled sheepishly and bored. So many years and nights thinking this through, pondering and racking his brain for some sort of interaction. And he came up with that?

He looked up.

She stared at him for another minute, blinked and lowered her eyes and turned around. "...sorry." she said lastly. And the vile taste of vomit rinsed at his lips. His eyes grew with anxiety.

Three seconds went by before he ran out of the class, sprinted to the bathroom and threw up. The lifeless emotions running through her eyes, telling him that he had screwed up. Every time. Every time!

He grabbed his beating heart that was fluttering and hammering against his chest with cold sweat running down his head and shaking fingertips gripping his t-shirt. His head racing with nightmares and daydreams, angry and happy, everything was/is like — nothing seemed right. He closed his eyes.

This is why he hated her. She made his heart race and beat out of his chest, she made his limbs go weak and fall apart, she made him crazy with her face in his eyes. She flooded his thoughts. She invaded his vision. She was the soundtrack to his everyday life.

He sunk to the bathroom tile floor and ran a hand through his wet tousles of hair. A racing heart with a racing mind undergoing through this all. His body in heat and his vision blurry. His breath shortened in choking gasps.

She blogged about her life on the internet waiting on some stranger to tell her how perfect she was. How pretty she was. How beautiful she really was. He was her only reader. And she was his only friend.

He shut his eyes closed.

It was a despicable thing that what was happening. Teenage lust and feelings thriving through him, running through his veins like some twisted drug waiting for him to crash and die. It was a status quo building up on nothing but his own emotions and sanity. This girl he hated.

This girl he wished too hold hands with and entangle her torn fingers with his, kiss her temple, her nose, and her cheek and ripped lips. He wished too tell her everything he couldn't. This girl he despised. This boy.

He was in love with her.