Status: ACTIVE :)
The Sun Goes Down in My Eyes
Prologue
In high school, It was tough being Maeve's best friend. She had the three things a teenage girl ever wanted: A flawless face and perfect body, people wanted to be her friend, and of course, always had a boy friend. Seriously. It was like if she got rid of one, there was always another waiting in line to be with her. Out of her many boyfriends, only one of them was the one to dump her. But that was Kenny Davis and he's an asshole. He broke up with her right after they had sex. I never got why guys did that. Didn't they want to have sex again? And you know, not just that one time? Guys are retarded.
But she was beautiful and all the boys wanted her. It didn't matter what kind of guy they were or who their group of friends were. The jocks, the popular kids, the nerds, the band boys, the burnouts. All wanted her.
Now, I wouldn't say she was a slut, she just got a lot of action. I mean if every girl in school were admired by as many guys as she was, they'd all be doing the same thing. Born in early May, Maeve was very much a Taurus. She valued love more than anything and she was extremely smart. Street smart. The two things that make up a Taurus were the essence of Maeve.
I guess we hung around with sketchy people, the "dirtbags" as some would call them. But looking back, I had more fun with those kids than anyone else in school. And they were only dirtbags because they hung out on the streets. The streets of our beautiful, safe, east coast suburban town. They… We… walked everywhere because our parents couldn't afford to buy us our own cars the second we hit sixteen. We partied in forts we made in sections of green woods because our parents didn't go away on vacation every weekend. They worked two jobs, and maybe they worked late but if we had parties and wrecked our houses we'd be grounded faster than you could say "underage" and have to pay them back the damage. We didn't care. And the dirtbag guys were hotter anyways. They were tan from all the time spent outside and sported nasty bruises on their worn-out bodies from sticking up for their friends and having their skateboards launch them into the concrete a few too many times.
When we ran into trouble, Maeve always knew the best way to handle any situation. She knew when to arrive, when leave, when to lie, when to tell the truth and how to say it. She was my connection to the rest of high school. She was basically my only friend, the only person I could actually talk to. The rest of the school saw me as an awkward, freakish, loser. I guess they were right. But Maeve, Maeve saw me for so much more than that. She told me all of her secrets and I could tell her mine. Maybe she was sketchy and flakey and didn't always text me back, but she accepted me for who I was.
In 9th grade when my dad showed up drunk on my doorstep and I had to call the cops to make him leave, she wasn't scared or ashamed of me. When I told her that my dad was an abusive alcoholic and we had an order of protection that said he wasn't allowed on our property, she understood exactly why that was necessary. When I couldn't make up an adequate excuse for why there were holes in our walls, she told me that her dad threw things when he was drunk too.
She always knew the perfect thing to say. She knew how to call out boys who were being dicks, girls who were being bitches, and she knew the right things to say to me. She noticed things too.
She noticed that I never ate more than an apple for lunch, and when we drove around with her current boyfriend and his friends wanted to get drive through food, she noticed that I never ordered anything but a small diet coke.
"You don't eat."
"I know." I smiled inside when she said this. The truth was that I did eat, I ate by the bus load late at night when my mom was in bed or at work, and then I'd throw it all up and be left in a state of numb self-loathing. If I couldn't physically look like I didn't eat, I could still act like I didn't eat. And her comments made me feel like I was successful. She noticed, but never forced me to eat. She knew she couldn't fix me. If only I knew that about her.
But she was beautiful and all the boys wanted her. It didn't matter what kind of guy they were or who their group of friends were. The jocks, the popular kids, the nerds, the band boys, the burnouts. All wanted her.
Now, I wouldn't say she was a slut, she just got a lot of action. I mean if every girl in school were admired by as many guys as she was, they'd all be doing the same thing. Born in early May, Maeve was very much a Taurus. She valued love more than anything and she was extremely smart. Street smart. The two things that make up a Taurus were the essence of Maeve.
I guess we hung around with sketchy people, the "dirtbags" as some would call them. But looking back, I had more fun with those kids than anyone else in school. And they were only dirtbags because they hung out on the streets. The streets of our beautiful, safe, east coast suburban town. They… We… walked everywhere because our parents couldn't afford to buy us our own cars the second we hit sixteen. We partied in forts we made in sections of green woods because our parents didn't go away on vacation every weekend. They worked two jobs, and maybe they worked late but if we had parties and wrecked our houses we'd be grounded faster than you could say "underage" and have to pay them back the damage. We didn't care. And the dirtbag guys were hotter anyways. They were tan from all the time spent outside and sported nasty bruises on their worn-out bodies from sticking up for their friends and having their skateboards launch them into the concrete a few too many times.
When we ran into trouble, Maeve always knew the best way to handle any situation. She knew when to arrive, when leave, when to lie, when to tell the truth and how to say it. She was my connection to the rest of high school. She was basically my only friend, the only person I could actually talk to. The rest of the school saw me as an awkward, freakish, loser. I guess they were right. But Maeve, Maeve saw me for so much more than that. She told me all of her secrets and I could tell her mine. Maybe she was sketchy and flakey and didn't always text me back, but she accepted me for who I was.
In 9th grade when my dad showed up drunk on my doorstep and I had to call the cops to make him leave, she wasn't scared or ashamed of me. When I told her that my dad was an abusive alcoholic and we had an order of protection that said he wasn't allowed on our property, she understood exactly why that was necessary. When I couldn't make up an adequate excuse for why there were holes in our walls, she told me that her dad threw things when he was drunk too.
She always knew the perfect thing to say. She knew how to call out boys who were being dicks, girls who were being bitches, and she knew the right things to say to me. She noticed things too.
She noticed that I never ate more than an apple for lunch, and when we drove around with her current boyfriend and his friends wanted to get drive through food, she noticed that I never ordered anything but a small diet coke.
"You don't eat."
"I know." I smiled inside when she said this. The truth was that I did eat, I ate by the bus load late at night when my mom was in bed or at work, and then I'd throw it all up and be left in a state of numb self-loathing. If I couldn't physically look like I didn't eat, I could still act like I didn't eat. And her comments made me feel like I was successful. She noticed, but never forced me to eat. She knew she couldn't fix me. If only I knew that about her.