The Tarnished Vs. The polished

imperfectly imperfect

When I'd first began dating Vincent , I was able to tell within the first 3 months that this person was far from my soulmate. He was more of a pain in my neck to me than anything and as you could probably guess, dating obviously became pretty frivolous.

In high school he was...THAT GUY. You know...The guy who wanted to pick verbal fights about the dumbest things...The guy that at wanted to prove everybody wrong about the most asinine subjects. Nobody was really down for the know-it-all except for the ditzy lustful chicks who'd throw their draws over his hazel eyes, curly coal-colored hair, almond skin and perfect smile. This boy's smile would make a dentist swoon. It definitely got me because I was admittedly, one of those girls.
I couldn't quite put my finger on what bothered me so much when it came to the freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors throwing their desperate selves at him... No, it wasn't the typical thing. "I want him and I don't want them to have him."
It was a bit more complex than that. I believe it was a fact that none of those girls could have stimulated him on a conversational, intellectual level.
He could have any girl in the school that he wanted, as arrogant and douchey as he was and I felt as though I had been the best "brain" match. Given that I took honors classes in literature three years in a row I had right to think that highly of myself. (what a fuckin' joke)

About 5 months rolled around after we start dating officially and there we were embracing the May heat... Overly ecstatic to be done with high school standing in our football field for graduation. Both of our parents in tears, convinced that we were crazy head over heels in love. (We would make a fantastic Facade duo.)They were more than likely thinking about the next possible step for Vinc and I...Getting an apartment together or Marriage maybe. *cringe*
The reality of it all was I went to bed almost every night fantasizing about new ways in which I could kill Vincent in his sleep.
It wasn't always that way. Sometimes he was really sweet. He would send a bouquet of flowers to my place of internship. He would patiently wait for me to clock out when I got off work and take me to the Sofa Café so I could rant to him about my day over tea. Arguments weren't always the main course. And when they weren't those were the best times I remember having with him.

Honestly there were many occasions where sleeping over at his house was just as exciting as watching paint dry all the while just as irritating as taking bleach eye drops. There was hardly anything romantic or cute about it, in all glorified honesty. I couldn't truly immerse myself in our "intellectual conversations" because they were hardly that. It's almost as if regardless of what was brought up, by the end of it he would be chastising me for being "wrong" about an opinion or something I knew to be fact. I knew what I liked and disliked. I knew what I stood for and couldn't care any less about. A women of my mind set couldn't deal with a chronically defensive, argumentative jackass. I had spent all our time trying to fix him. Call it Crystal-eyed or Young of me...but I believed with everything in me that it was possible. That idea was swiftly kicked off of multiple cliffs. Every time we fought, actually. But it really solidified around July.