completeinhim
Roger's never been able to climb onto the rafters, what with being in a wheelchair and all, but he's always wondered what it'd look like to see the theatre from down below. There's always been a small, childlike part of him that wants to ask Jack or Heather to describe it all in great detail, but it all feels so unnecessarily embarrassing.
My stomach is fluttering as I look up into Tucker's eyes. He's staring at me through the rearview, waiting for me to answer his question, but my jaw feels like it's stuck. "I - um -" I start, and Jack snickers quietly from the passenger seat.
"Cat got your tongue?" he asks, and I imagine for a moment what it'd feel like to slap that smug little smirk off of his face.
The butterflies in my stomach are raging now, pressing against the edges of my skin and I feel myself getting dizzy as I maintain eye contact with the boy I've been in love with for nearly seven years. "I don't mind at all," I say, the words threatening to choke me as they leave my lips. "The more the merrier."
Orbs. It's a cliche way to describe his eyes, and yet I can't think of anything better - blue orbs, glistening just so in the light as he looks up at me. Stares at me. Looks right through me, like he can see something nobody else can. Something beyond the surface, so intimate and terrifying all at once.
I reach in front of me instinctively, brushing a strand of blond hair behind his ear, and he shivers.
"Is this okay?" I ask.
He kisses me in reply.
"They say it's just lust, but I know better than them."
That's what I used to tell myself.
But, like always, *they* were right.
I wasn't in love.
Hell no.
If anything, I was in hate.
I sit in the back of the room, scribbling down notes about the American Revolution. My mind is racing as I take in all the information.
/I love this subject,/ I think.
And I do.
I love history.
Always will.
I raise my hand to answer the question our teacher just asked, beaming when I'm told I was right.
I heard the sound of metal clanking against metal. I walked into the room and looked around at all of the people behind bars. Men and women of all ages, faces dark, looking like there was no hope left. They knew they had done wrongs, but there was no going back now.
His hand grasped mine and we sat there, content in our own silence. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me towards him, eyes full of love.
I expected him to kiss me.
I expected him to tell me how much he loved me.
I expected him to do something romantic.
But no, he just wrapped his arms around me and hugged me.
And that was okay.
It was okay to just be held for once.
Not used, not just a toy. He held me because he loved me, and that's all I really needed.
Sometimes I sit, looking out my window, and just wonder. I wonder why I'm here. I wonder if all of this is real.
And, when someone asks me, "What are you thinking about?" all I can answer is, "Life."
Because that IS what I'm thinking about.
Just not the way they think.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm a real person.
I felt my eyes crinkle as the smile spread across my face. I couldn't help it. I always get this way when he's around. Even when he pisses me off, I can't help but smile, because he's in my life and I don't know what I'd do without him.
"Why are you smiling?" he asks me.
I shrug, too scared to tell him how much I really love him.
I felt the car shaking as the train moved slowly on the tracks. I held on tight. It was my first time on a train, and I was afraid that I'd fall and hurt myself. I fixed my dress and looked around.
"These peasants are disgusting," I spat.
The man in front of me turned around and shook his head, "Petty."
I laughed. "You're just jealous," I said, mostly reassuring myself.
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