This Girl

Chapter 50: You Are What You Wear

Because she's a pig?

Look in the mirror, Amanda. 

Bye. 

I lock my phone off and shove it in my pocket. I feel like throwing it at the wall. I feel like punching something. I feel like kissing the most beautiful girl in the world again. 

But I can't.

Because she doesn't love me back.

Because I just told her I loved her and she doesn't love me back. 

Because 'we're just friends.'

I thought I had it bad before, but now it's so, so, so much worse. I thought she was killing me before. Now she's suffocating me, causing a slow, painful death. 

I pick up my phone. I go into photos and scroll through the images. There's about a hundred from the past two weeks. Of her. 

I click on the first video. It's of her standing on top of those rocks, me fearing for her life. Seriously, if she died, I would too. 

"Having a good time?" I yell from behind the camera. I zoom in. She smiles her shining smile and replies:

"Sure am!"

I laugh from behind the camera as she throws her arms up in the air. The video ends with her taking photos of the ocean. 

I scroll to the next one. It's dark and her dirty blonde/brown hair is highlighted by the red of the sunset. She's laughing. 

"Stop it!" she says, shoving my hand away as I tickle her. "I'm supposed to be helping you!" 

Her hand picks up mine and examines the bloody wound that I got when I stabbed my palm with a fishing hook. She pulls me up and we walk over to the ocean. My videoing is stuffy as we walk along and the sand is a blur. 

"Patricia," she says. I turn the camera over to her. "Stop videoing."

"Why?" I ask. 

"Because," she places a hand over the camera. I can only hear her voice. "No one wants to see your bloody hand."

I push her hand off the camera. "But I want to see you."

She bites her pink lip and looks at me with what I hoped was love. Obviously, it wasn't. I shut my phone off and lean back on my back. 

I hear a sob from the room down the corridor and I visibly tremble. I swallow and put a hand over my face, massaging my forehead. I wipe my face with my arm and lie back down on the pillow. I hear the sobs coming from the room. 

I don't usually cry. The first time I cried in five years was when I was with Natalie, in the car, talking about my Mum. This is the second time. 

I don't stop shaking until I hear her muffled sobs stop. Then I wipe my eyes, get up and wash my face. I'm still in my board shorts without a shirt. I pull the necklace out of my short pocket and place it on the vanity. 

I can't take it anymore. I pull my headphones out of the drawer and plug them into my phone. I don't play anything. Instead, I walk to the room down the corridor and open the door quietly. 

She's lying on her bed, her eyes closed. There are tear tracks on her cheeks and nose. Her hair's fallen around her shoulder and her arm is held over her eyes. She's breathing deeply. I walk over and lay the locket on her drawers. I look back at her face before I walk out. 

I turn around and go back to her. I crouch down beside her and look at her breathing peacefully. I stop the tears welling up behind my eyes with my arm and look back at the locket. I pick it up.