maybe if she had been called beautiful before with so much drive, she wouldn't have been so
stuck
on the one drunk boy from the street.
but he had meant it in such a way―
she was doomed right from the start.
༻❁༺
―on a girl with bad days, the first b...
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「 I 」 SEVENTEEN.
when Ryan, Ry, returned, she saw it as her cue to leave.
the sky had just begun to grow dark, streaks of purple interrupting pink clouds lined with orange patches.
it was time to face the music.
her parents hadn't called or texted her once during her two-day journey. she could've been
in danger or lost or dead
and they wouldn't know.
probably wouldn't care.
maybe they'd be happy. warm inside at the discovery.
but there was no discovery to be made because there she was, in the passenger seat of Morrison's car, which was jet black and even darker than his soft, messy hair.
how many times she had run her fingers through it in the last two days. it hadn't been enough.
she reached over to slide her fingers along the side of his head, where his hair just began and the curls were smaller, just briefly before staring emptily at the road ahead again.
it was...quiet...in the jet black box.
some familiar old tune was playing faintly from the radio—or maybe she couldn't hear well over her heartbeat—and she knew she had heard it before but couldn't
for the life of her
remember who was singing it.
for some reason, that made her feel guilty.
so she didn't ask.
occasionally, she would softly tell him to turn right, or left, or keep straight, and she could've directed him anywhere, but it was time for her to go back.
it was so hard to hold on to the beautiful things in life.
she could still feel a faint cloud of alcohol hovering over her mind. she wondered how dangerous it was for him to be driving.
but surely he had done this plenty of times.
he had done everything.
then, the familiar house came into view, and reality had slapped her across the face with all its might, and
it was time for her to go back.
"it's this one," she said, pointing to it almost timidly, and he stopped in front of it.
when she looked at him then, for the first time since she had seen the house again, she could only imagine how pathetic she looked.
she swore a few tears were threatening to surface, but she blamed that on the vodka.
his expression was, once again, too difficult to decipher, and she hated that. be sad i'm going. be happy to be free from me. be something.
you have to be something.
but he looked too neutral, his voice betraying him with its slight imbalance. "see you around, Marguerite."
when would she get to hear him say her name again?
surely her parents would coop her up in the house from the second she walked through the front door. this moment was all she would have to hold on to.
well, this moment and the best, most meaningful two days of her whole life.
she said nothing as she got out of his car. she didn't want him to hear how much her voice would
q u i v e r.
her lips were completely sealed as she walked towards the front door, not once daring to look back until she got there for fear of
running back to him.
when her mother answered the door and looked at her with a scowl twisting her features...that was when she finally allowed herself to look back.
devastation. he was already gone.
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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR TO YOU: part one is almost done. then there will probably be a brief hiatus while i get part two finished and in order.
