Angelic

Angelic: Chapter 6

The boy is gorgeous.  Absolutely stunning, in a human sort of way.  Not a way that mesmerizes me in a possessive type of way.  A way that makes me want to throw myself at him and protect him forever so that nothing can ever harm him.  He’s truly the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

            Even in his sleep, he has a light smile that makes him look like he’s only fourteen, though I know by gut instinct that he’s older.  His hair is a light brown, with red and darker parts in it, mixing it into a blend more beautiful than the sunset.  It’s sticking up every which way, but it looks as if it could’ve been done by a stylist.  His skin is perfect, not tan, especially not in the middle of the winter, but not ghostly pale.  His skin is shockingly clear of acne for a teenage boy.

            As I approach his bed, as quiet and invisible as a ghost, his smile gets more pronounced as if he can tell that I’m there.  He shifts in his sleep, throwing his arm behind his head with a yawn.  When he stretches, he exposes his beautiful arms, toned but not in a super scary muscular way.  It shows that he’s not weak, but doesn’t make me whimper in fear.  I doubt a boy as sweet looking as him could ever make me whimper in fear.  The comforter slips down for a half second as he stretches, during which I see his light, but definitely present, six pack.  Delicious.

            More than anything, I want to see his eyes.  His long, thick lashes are at least as full as mine.  They fall down over his cheeks, just long enough to touch the skin.  I know if he smiled just a bit wider that it’d touch his eyes.  If only he would just wake up so I can see the beautiful gems his eyelids are hiding.  I can tell that they’d sparkle when he grins.  He’s so beautiful that he’s breath taking.

            I drift out of sleep, smiling.  I’m shocked that I’ve woken myself up.  Usually, one must shake me to wake up.  And of course, the one day I want to stay sleeping, I wake up.  I want to see this boy’s eyes so badly.

            The boy.  Where did he come from?  Did I see him at school yesterday, and not realize I was gawking at him?  No, then I would know his eye color.  Where on earth does my subconscious get these things?  Shouldn’t I be dreaming about flying and doing other angelic things?  I shouldn’t merely be dreaming of boys.  I shake my head, dismissing the thoughts.  I have more pressing matters at hand.

            I figure that I might as well take advantage of my immunity to the cold.  After all, I really don’t have too much clothes for the cold weather.  I might as well wear a short sleeved top with my jeans today, rather than the concealing sweater.  If I’m going to shine like the sun, I might as well give them some more shine to look at.  Plus, I have a feeling it will have less drag than a long sleeved shirt when I punch Mia straight in the nose.

            I’m dreading looking in the mirror, but I refuse to go to school not knowing what I look like.  I take a deep breath as I go out into the hallway, my clothing draped over my arm.  I’ll be fine.  It’s the same girl.  She just sparkles a bit, that’s all. 

            I take a deep breath, forcing my eyes open, and step into the bathroom, turning to bravely face the mirror.

            This time, I’m more level headed about the whole ordeal.  At least now I know that I’m not exactly a monster.  I’m a good…thing.

            The girl in the mirror looks much the same as she did yesterday.  Now, her hair is tangled insanely, twisting whichever way it wants.  The face, though, is priceless.  The cream tone of her skin is so soft I lift my hand to stroke it.  Her cheeks are perfectly pink, in the right places, like somebody’s just embarrassed her, but the heat is missing, and her ears aren’t red.  Her eyes have not faded from their electrifying blue color, even after a full night’s sleep.  Her teeth don’t have the yellow tone they had when she was a human.  They’re now sparkling white.  Still, it’s the shine that’s the most shocking.  As much as I want to be terrified, I can’t help but be a bit smug.  This magnificent being is me.  I’m that beautiful girl.  Just looking at myself makes me want to sing and dance.  Or perhaps it’s just the comprehension that I’m an angel.  It can’t be all bad, can it?  Yes, it can.  I answer myself before I turn optimistic.