How to Steal a Happy Ending

•twenty seven• The primary symptoms.

atelophobia: the fear of imperfection, of never being good enough...

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Usually when we went to the movies, James would latch on to the cheesiest, sappiest romance they had playing and, like a petulant child with candy at the grocery store, demand that we buy tickets for it. Today was no different.

Only it was. Because today, the vote wasn't two against one with James' idea of cinematic entertainment being quickly shot down. Because today there was an unwelcome variable in our time honored formula. Today, she was here.

I scowled at the screen; distaste written in bold across my features. Not that anyone would notice. Two in my company were busy "accidentally" brushing shoulders and feigning ignorance. The other was busy eating popcorn. And everyone else was busy eating up the lies Hollywood fed them. Nobody cared that there was something wrong with this picture; that there was a person here that simply didn't belong.

This was supposed to be the best day of my life. The day everything turned around for me. Instead, everything's turned on its head.

Once again, she'd dropped in and stole what was supposed to be mine. She was the one at the center of his attention while I sat on edges, two feet away from the aisle.

I watched them whisper and giggle, sharing a joke the rest of us weren't privileged enough to hear. I saw they way their expressions changed in unison, totally absorbed in the story playing out in front of them, from wistful to sympathetic to joy. It was almost as if- as if he wanted her there next to him. Sara, not me who would only give him an eye roll and biting sarcasm as company.

Maybe I should've put more effort into it; into loving the same things he did. Maybe then I could've been the girl he hesitated to put an arm around in a dark cinema hall, almost as if she were a melting snowflake that would disappear with the slightest touch.

I looked down at my lap, at my folded hands. I tried to ignore the way they quivered, and then the way my eyes filled with perspiration of a ragged heart.

"Woah, please don't tell me you're getting sentimental about this piece of crap movie."

I switched back to the scowl as I turned to Nate. "Yeah right," I snatched the bucket of popcorn from him, hoping to dig out a handful and fill the hollow in my stomach.

My closed fist came up with only air trapped inside. "Great, you finished the popcorn too." I stood up, the empty paper bucket dropping out of my hands to land on its side near his paint splattered high tops. "Freakin' pig," I growled and made my way towards the glowing red light.

EXIT.

I sighed; If only I could...

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A/N: There are two primary symptoms I was referring to in this chapter...can you guess which they are?