Prologue
“I want more.”
She stares back at me, her green eyes are blank, but I don’t miss the way her face scrunches up ever so slightly. After a few seconds she looks away and sighs.
“What more could you want?” She answers calmly, her voice even, but the way her eyes remain firmly planted on the horizon and the way her long, slender fingers turn white from clenching onto the concrete we are seated on betray her completely. She’s anything but collected. She’s anything but calm.
Everything. Nothing. All of it.
“I want you,” I answer continuing to look at her-refusing to be the coward I’ve been recently.
She sighs again, as if in pain, and the gust of air leaves her mouth along with her self control. When she turns back to look at me I can see the fierceness in her eyes sparkle like tiny firecrackers.
I almost grin.
“You don’t want me,” she replies curtly, the fierceness turning into anger, still she doesn’t lash out, and instead merely continues all-knowingly-entirely sure, “You want the idea of me.”
This time it’s my turn to sigh. She still doesn’t know and she still doesn’t understand.
“You’re wrong,” I retort mostly to rile her up even more- to get her to tell me what it is she feels even if it’s only because she’s caught up in a fit of anger. I just have an overwhelming need to get to know her.
“No. No, I’m not wrong,” She starts as she rises up from the ledge, her dark hair blowing in the breeze and for a moment I consider how this is a completely inappropriate time to think she’s beautiful. She throws her hands up and I smile because I like her crazy hand gestures. And it’s because I’m so engrossed in the wind and in her hair and in her hands that I don’t realize just how angry she’s become.
“Look, what more could you want? We’re together, we actually go out and laugh and talk and make-out and all the fucking couple-y shit I was opposed to in the beginning!”
I don’t necessarily like profanity coming from a girl, not to be a sexist or whatever since I use my fair share of it, but somehow she makes it work. When she uses curses it doesn't sound obscene or wrong. It just sounds like she’s feeling; it sounds like all the intensity she keep way inside of her.
“I-you,” she stops and looks back at the horizon, at the sun that makes the water glisten, at the endless blue sky that spreads out above us, enclosing us in the world we live in. I learned that from her; to think that way I mean.
“You want the me I showcase to everyone else,” She says all the emotion draining from her voice, “You want the girl who’s fun and happy and stupid funny. The one who can make you feel good, but has enough intelligence to hold a serious conversation. You want the one who can be there for you and just give and give and give,” suddenly her voice starts rising again, her pale pink lips pull back almost threateningly as she talks, “You want the girl who is just a tad bit annoying because you like that. You don’t want her to be perfect. You want her to be flawed, but only slightly, so that she doesn’t intimidate you or make you feel vulnerable. In fact, it makes you feel good that she gets on your nerves occasionally... You want the girl you saw screaming in the rain. You want the girl who gets along with all of your friends and knows how to party and who’s innocent on the outside but not completely.” She stops somewhat abruptly her voice dying down.
“But that’s not really me. I’m not good for you. My flaws are too big.” She whispers the words brokenly as she finally sits back down, letting her legs dangle over the edge and I briefly remember the first time I truly met her, when she started running and suddenly disappeared over the edge. I thought she had just gone off and died and I had been so nervous that when I realized she was okay I refused to talk to her. But after, when I calmed down enough, I finally realized that she was a good, wild, fearless kind of crazy. A girl, entirely different than what her reputation made her out to be, had stood in front of me.
We are silent then. I want to tell her she is wrong again, but for some reason I keep thinking that if I so much as open my mouth she will jump over the edge. So instead, I turn to look at her again. Her face has turned blank, but her eyes are calculating.
I had gradually learned that too. I learned that her eyes are like an open book, that she isn’t always hard to read, but that she’s deceptive. Her facial expressions sometimes tell me different than her eyes, but her eyes never lie. The only problem is that sometimes she closes the book and her eyes betray nothing and I’m left floating through air.
“I’m a mess. I’m the biggest, most fucked up person you’ll ever get the pleasure of not knowing. Be grateful. Be grateful you won’t ever have to truly deal with me. No one will ever have to be subjected to me and most certainly not you.”
I am surprised she spoke again-even more at the fact that whether she realizes it or not (but then again she always knows exactly what she’s doing) a tiny part of her is letting me in, despite the words coming from her mouth, she's vulnerable.
“You’re right. I don’t have to be subjected to you. I want to be subjected to you.”
She looks back at me and gets up once again, “You just don’t get it, do you? There’s so much inside me I keep in check. There’s so much I don’t say and so much I don’t allow myself to show and it’s for a reason! And even if you tried to get to know me, you won’t be able to. You won’t ever fully get to know or understand me. And whatever you do end up seeing, you won't like. And then I’m going to be the idiot for showing you anything in the first place and then watching you turn around and leave.” The words come out like rapid fire and I know what she hides even though she's good at talking about herself dejectedly.
“Now, I already give you all I can. I give you more than I should. This, all of this, was not part of the deal. We were never supposed to become friends. I can’t give you anymore.”
I let the silence stretch out between us because I want her attention and I know that if I start talking right away she’ll still be lost in all the possible consequences of what she’s just said. When she finally looks down at me, I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She simply stares at me with those green orbs of hers.
“I see it, you know. I see the intensity you keep under the surface-I see the more. And you’re right, maybe I won’t ever understand you, but that’s okay because you don’t need to be understood. You just need someone you can trust in even if it kills you to trust in anyone but yourself.” I say the words calmly because the best things are said that way: serenely, fully knowing and believing in what is said. This is isn’t a fit of passion, this isn’t a scene in a movie where the heavens part and the rain begins to pour and I yell right back at her until she falls into my arms without a doubt. I know better, things need to build, they need a foundation only simple but true words can build.
Her eyes widen. She gasps. It has finally clicked.
And I let the grin I’ve been holding back escape because I know that she finally knows what I know.
Then, she turns back around and jumps off the edge.
Evelyn’s Note: Woah, that was a lot of intensity, but I think this offers a strong basis for the understanding of the characters. (There won't always be such intense scenes). Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it and puh-lease (!!) don’t forget to vote and comment (even if it’s a critique). Thanks! And until next time,
Mwah ~
