All About Her (g/g,g/b,b/b)

The Beginning of My End (Jean's POV)

     I look at her, from head to dainty toe. The way she cocks her head to the side, and how she props herself on her bruised knees, which are crossed at the ankle. Her feet are just as tanned as her legs are, whereas mine are bleach white compared even to my pale skin.

    We're sitting on my bed, it's bedframe covered in old medals, they jingle like her laughter as she adjusts herself back onto my pillows. She didn't ask, and I don't mind at all.

    She's saying something, but I'm not sure what. I'm too busy taking in her every detail. Her hair, which fails into its gorgeous, permed, beachy blonde waves. I told her not to get her hair permed, I told her that she'd hate having curly hair, that her pin-straight hair was a blessing. I was wrong, as usual. Her eyes are the softest blue, almost grey, that have the slightest flecks of violet; those eyes look as if they know your every secret, as if she knows everything before it leaves your mouth as a puff of air. But of course, there's no way she knows everything, or else she wouldn't be my best friend anymore.

    She doesn't know that I dream of holding her perfect 24 inch waist, and pulling her close. She doesn't know that I crave her full lips, or sweet, tanned skin. It's impossible, she'd never be with me, she's straight. Or at least that's the way she seems. Her boyfriend seems proof enough, but maybe, just maybe...

    "Hey, Jean, you okay? You're being kinda quiet?" She snaps me out of my trance, and I'm unsure what to say.

    "Yeah, just tired. Coach worked us hard at practise this morning." She bites her lip, measuring what I've just said. She knows I'm lying, but she'll let it go, just this once. I can tell this by the way she squints her eyes at me, then sighs.

     "Alright G, whatever you say. Does your coach ever gives you guys a rest from soccer? It just seems to be all day everyday for you." She keeps talking, something about the lack of respect for athletes. Her accent twirls around like wind-chimes, it's perfection. I'd listen, but I'm too busy watching the way her mouth barely opens when she speaks, and the way her eyebrows dance across her forehead. Her face is so expressive, when she allows it to be. Most of the time it's a blank wall, one that nobody can possibly begin to understand. Sometimes she lets me in, for brief moments that I'll treasure forever.

     I think I'm in love with her, I truly am. I don't love her for her obvious outer beauty, but there's something about this girl that draws me in. She's like a drug, purely addicting and dangerous. She'll be the death of me, I know it. I'm losing my mind bit by bit, and she has no clue.

Her phone rings, it's some old song, like Frank Sinatra or something; I'll have to look it up.

"Look, I gotta go, but I'll text you, okay?" She kisses my cheek and is out the door like lightening. It doesn't mean to her what it means to me; she always kisses people goodbye, it's a French thing I guess.

I lean back into the still-warm pillows and inhale her perfume. I wish I didn't have to feel this way; the longing pierces my chest like a knife. I think back to our every touch, the side hugs she always gives me. She obviously doesn't feel the way I do.

I think I'm depressed, yeah. I'm not gay, I couldn't be, I'm not. But those blue eyes... Those delicate hands that express nothing but grace. Her voice, it's something from an old movie; it's so sweet and pure.

I stand up and walk to my vanity. I run my unpainted fingers through my short brown hair. She always paints nails, sometimes they're pink or red, but most of the time they're blue. And those nails are always chipped, it's kind of charming. Despite little things like that, she's walking perfection. She's prettier than a Barbie, nothing like me. I lean close into the ghostly figure in front of me, and stare into those lifeless grey eyes. I'm pointy nose to pointy nose with her, and I sigh. I'll never be good enough.

My mom calls me downstairs for dinner, she's surprised that my friend left before dinner. I tell her it's nothing.

I need that girl, but she doesn't need me.