| A story for your reading EnjoymentLol, here's something to prove that I am not dead. Wrote it for creative writing. If you like it, leave a comment, for I am thinking about submitting it to a Lit. Mag....idk which one yet, maybe I'll send it to a few. ^_^ Maybe I'll do a more comprehensive update when I don't feel sick/hungry. How to Deal With Betrayal When she gives you the news, don’t break your smile. Just show of those whites so she doesn’t know you’re disintegrating inside. Hide your hands under the table so she doesn’t see them shaking. Instead, concentrate on the loud, annoyingly cheerful voices of the other students in the cafeteria, and mimic. You’ll say, “What? Didn’t quite catch that,” And she’ll smile, lopsided, knowing full well you heard what the hell she said. She’ll repeat, “We’re thinking about getting together,” Your hands will shake violently, and your eyes will burn, but don’t show weakness, don’t let her see you’re dying inside, “But, I couldn’t go through with it if you weren’t alright with it. I know how you feel, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize the friendship we’re growing because of him,” The burning in you eyes will be too much to disregard, so you’ll rub them quickly, ignoring the quesadillas next to you that are beginning to chill. “That was big of you,” You’ll say, mimicking the pleasant voices around you, “And I appreciate that. Only a person with true character could be honest like this,” Smile bigger, then, pour on the manufactured charm, “Really, I want you to be happy. And if he’s the one that will bring you joy, then I’m all for it. I’m behind you. One hundred percent,” She’s not the one you’re upset with anyway, no, it’s not her. She’s not the one who gave you her favorite jacket to ‘hold on to’ for five months. She’s not the one who purchased the $90 stuffed panda and had it shipped from China for your birthday. She’s not the one who ran her hands though your hair and smiled sweetly as you confessed, who claimed she felt the same. “I can’t do this if you’re not OK with it,” You’ll smile genuinely this time, and your eyes might droop if your not careful, but don’t let your guard slip. “Girl, I’ll be fine. Shit happens, and you’ve got to deal with it. I might be a little upset now, but this’ll pass,” You’re honesty and acceptance will strike a cord with her, so she’ll reach out to grip your hand, and you might reciprocate, you might not, depending on if the shaking is subsiding. But, either way, you’ll say you have to head off to work, and excuse yourself with a hug. But really, your just escaping to your room to drown our your tears with ridiculously loud songs from Windows Media player. You’ll forget the $3.99 quesadillas there. As you lean back in your chair, with your hands over your eyes, and the salt-water streaming down
your face, and your heart’s cracking, dissolving into your stomach, you’ll laugh eerily. It seems he’s to much of a bitch to even talk to you, not man enough to man-up to the fact that he’s done you wrong. Your friends say you should burn the jacket with lighter, and give the ashes to him in a box. Or cut up the jacket and return the pieces in a box. You consider dunking it in the toilet so he can wear piss and shit around all day, to your secret inward pleasure, but that won’t show him your anger, even if it arrives in a box. That won’t show him that he hurt you. Won’t show him that saying ‘I can’t be a good boyfriend for you right now because I’m so busy, but maybe…’ and then dating someone else isn’t quite an OK plan. If he can talk to you like a man, maybe you’ll return it, and tell him to leave before you stab him with scissors. If he doesn’t, you’ll leave it on the doorstep with a note – God don’t like ugly – after you dunk it in the toilet. And you’ll move on with your life. He was shit anyway. |
mcvarmazi
