I have seventeen bracelets now. I threw the eighteenth one away.
terror still clung to me like a dead mouse to a trap. going places meant I had to expose myself, willingly show my scars. people would think I'm searching for attention and pity.
i didn't want to hear them scoff at my actions, seeing the permanent slivers of pink. maybe being ridiculed for exposure is what I deserve. but I didn't want to walk outside in the middle of summer with a sweater on, only to have someone ask: "aren't you hot?"
of course i would be hot; it's not fucking cold out, is it?
"Frankie!" there she is. she always greets me after work at 2 o'clock pm. always. she's never late when it comes to me. dropping me off at band practices even though I can drive myself, because she wants to keep talking to me.
giving me food when she predicts when she'll be done because she knows that when i say I'm hungry, I mean it.
coming to concerts at the preferred time I ask, because she knows my music means so much to me.
i really do love her. I'm glad she's my girlfriend.
"hey, Frankie. ready?" she asked kindly, as if the softest feather became her words.
she sat beside me. her fingers brushed my bracelets again. i knew how eager she was to make me feel comfortable, and i admired it. i admired everything about her. i desired her everything.
"Reason two: I think you have the most enticing eyes I've ever seen. to someone else they may look dull, because I know you're broken, but to me, I see the stars and the sun and the moon and every world in your eyes."
dammit. she got me. I cracked a smile, which made her smile.
for our deal, I took a thin bracelet off. I unclasped the metal hook and let it dangle in my hands.
of all the angels, I think you're the prettiest one.
