Green Eyes, White Lies

Green Eyes, White Lies ~ Ch.2

Jack and I had been best friends since the fourth grade. My mom had just moved the family to be closer to her sister, Aunt Saundra, after my father walked out on us.She was opening a small bakery and money was tight, so my brothers wore hand me downs covered in patches from our cousin Sean, Monica wore my hand me downs, and, as the oldest girl, mom made my dresses out of the cheapest material she could find.

I walked into class my first day in a blue jumper made out of material that was stiff and itchy and too tight tennis shoes and everyone stared. It was as if Laura Ingles Wilder had stepped off the prairie and into Mrs. Smithe's classroom full of girls in jeans, t-shirts, and dresses from macys. I felt all alone until a blonde boy with a bowl cut walked up to me. "I like your dress," he smiled, "want to sit next to me?" I nodded and he took my hand and led me to his table.

From that day, we had practically been inseparable.

"You sure you have everything?" Ben asked as he threw my luggage in the back of the car, waking me from my memory.

"Yeah," I nodded "Pretty sure." I looked at him as his 6ft 2in form ran upstairs to double check the apartment, his tanned shirtless body showing every muscle as he went. His brown hair was cropped close to his head and his blue eyes were piercing and so bright. He was named one of the sexiest men in Hollywood and at 28 has a bright future ahead of him. On top of all that, he's a genuinely sweet, caring, fun guy. He listens when you need someone to talk to, he's always tactful, even tempered, and as I found our a few months into dating, amazing in bed.

He was the All American Boy, and I seemed fairly unremarkable. I stood 5ft. 3in with curly reddish brown ringlets (and my blue streak). My eyes were large and brown and my skin was a tan color, but not the golden tan you see in Hollywood but a more reddish tan I inherited from my Cherokee ancestors. That skin was marred with childhood scars, accumulated from rocks, fences, fights, surgeries, and an ex-boyfriend. In addition, it was laden with tattoos. Wings on my back, a cross on my arm, a heart on my chest, and a tribal symbol where my hip would be if I didn't have such a boyish figure. Ben disliked tattoos, he didn't see them as self expression, he saw them as trashy. But he accepted them as part of me. My lips were an odd shade of salmon, I never wore makeup, and my nose was large and crooked from taking one too many punches from Rob when I was 17.

I was everything Ben was not; impulsive, hot headed, blunt, rebelling, and what my mom called "free spirited" when she really wanted to say crazy and non conformist. Ben dressed like he belonged on the cover of teen pop, which he did, and I, even thought I'm a fashion and costume designer, dress in whatever my mood takes me to. Today, that was a pair of daisy dukes, a gray baby tee, and flip flops. For some reason, against all odds, here he was, still with me after 10 months. We were a nationally recognized anomaly, the picture that gave hope to every teenage girl that she could one day date a movie star. And I, along with every tabloid in America, couldn't help but ask why.

As he ran back downstairs, this time fully clothed, with his keys and my iPod in hand, our eyes met and I smiled. It was because he loved me, and I knew that. "Time to go," he smiled as he opened the door for me and handed me my iPod. I climbed in and he closed the door and went around to the drivers side. "LAX here we come."

* * * * * *

"So call me the moment you land," Ben said at the gate.

"I will," I smiled.

"And call me if you need anything," he said.

"I will," I promised.

"And I'll call all the time to check up on you," he told me.

I laughed, "You act like we've never spent a moment apart. I'll be fine."

"I know," he said, moving a piece of hair behind my ear, "I just worry."

"Well don't," I kissed him on the cheek, "I'll see you a couple days before the wedding."

"2 days before," he said "You'll be doing some maid of honor thing so your brother's picking me up?"

"Yes," I told him, "I have to go now or else I'm gonna miss my flight." I smiled at him and bit my lip nervously. "Love you."

"Love you too," he said as he gave me a kiss goodbye. Suddenly a flash went off and I pulled away and groaned. "Sorry," he sighed.

"I know," I rolled my eyes, "I just wish that wasn't a concern of our. I hate the fact that kissing my boyfriend in an airport is front page tabloid news. I hate that people can't just leave us alone."

"Don't worry," Ben attempted to comfort, "You'll get use to it."

"That's just it, Ben," I sighed, "I don't want to get used to it." I paused, "I really do have to go, I'll see you at the wedding." I walked off with my backpack, my 2 suitcases already checked. Ben stood there and watched until I turned the corner.

Ben was a sweet guy, and I cared about him, but did I love him? Saying I did when I wasn't sure made me feel awful, but I always just told myself it was a little white lie. And if I did love him, was it enough to put up with paparazzi and tabloids the rest of my life?