The Girl with the Broken Smile

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              She’s crazy, was the first thing I thought when I saw her. Her hair had been a curly blonde mess, her eye liner smeared, and her clothes barely covering her skin even though it was the coldest night that summer. She came barring hugs for those she knew and kissing the cheeks of those she didn’t.

                She’s crazy, Jack had warned me when he caught me staring. The way he said it- it made me think he knew this from experience. That not too long ago, he’d been looking at her the same way I was then.

                “You’re crazy,” I told her as the cold wind blew against our faces, making me fiddle with my glasses. She laughed, loudly and open. Thinking about it, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard her laugh that way.

                She took a long, skillful swig of the rum that she was cradling in her arms.

                “I know,” she told me and her eyes shone with something that I recognized as recklessness.

                She took off my glasses and looked at me, her gaze unwavering and curious.

                “You have pretty eyes,” she told me and I laughed.

                “Thanks so do you,” I told her and she grinned cheekily handing me back my glasses.

                She leaned back and looked at the stars for a second before pressing that bottle to her plump lips once more.

                I grabbed it from her after she was done and did the same.

                I coughed as the warm liquid made its way down my throat and my cheeks reddened in embarrassment, “That’s strong.”

                She nodded and took it back.

                She tilted her head to the side and peered at the couple in the car.

                “Do you have a cigarette?” She asked and both of them shook their head in union.

                She cursed before drinking more.

                The courage I felt may have come from the adrenaline that came from sitting on top of the car in the middle of the night at some random farm or maybe it came from the alcohol. But nonetheless it was there, “I think I love you.”

                She looked at me, her eyes sad and pitiful just as I had known they would be.

                She was not just a heartbreaker. She was the heartbreaker and she never failed to disappoint.

                “I’m sorry,” she told me.

                I nodded feeling a burning in my throat that hadn’t come from the cheap and heavy alcohol.

                She put her finger in my hair and smiled, “I’m probably not going to remember this tomorrow, so don’t be embarrassed.”

              I laughed but I couldn’t hear the humor in my own voice. 

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