Crush [H.S]

1. If Only

I ran my nail against my skin as I watched you from afar, waiting for the sharp pangs of pain, waiting to draw the first drop of blood. You were preoccupied. With her. With her bouncy, blonde hair and her sky blue eyes. With her sweet, corky laugh and her cherry red lips. With her clothes that hugged her just right, the material that made her shapely hips and mile long legs simply irresistible. The perfect girl for a perfect boy. 

I watched on that day, wondering why I couldn't be her, wondering why you never noticed me the way you adored her. I watched on with fury swirling through the dark depths of my chest, until all I could feel was you. All that I could see were your hands on her waist, or your lips pressed against hers or your eyes, vibrant and bright green, dazed and in love with the wrong girl.

That morning, I watched you throw away your art project, something that I knew meant the most to you. I watched you crumple it as if it were meaningless, I watched you throw it into a pit of flames until it was gone. And I laughed. I laughed as if I'd meant it, loud and true, before grabbing it from that recycling bin to see if it was worth something you couldn't see.

It was.

A portrait. A portrait of your dead mum, that you'd abandoned because you knew it'd upset your father. It was the small things, things like getting rid of something close to your heart for the sole purpose of protecting someone, that made wanting you easier than breathing. Though I was a nobody to you. Only a small, frail girl hidden in the shadows. Too afraid to show myself. Too afraid to show you how I truly felt.

So maybe this could've all been avoided. Maybe I hadn't needed to dig my nails into my skin until I felt anything but empty. Maybe I wouldn't have to keep my eye on you from afar, assure that you weren't at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe I hadn't needed to ruin her life, ruin the life of the girl you were so sickeningly infatuated with. Maybe your perfect, pretty girlfriend would still have her long, tendril swoops of hair, if it weren't for the sharp pair of scissors I held up to the strands. Maybe she wouldn't have cried like a bitch when she hadn't noticed the snickers following her down the halls, all the way to the women's room, only to find that the back of her head had been mutilated. If only you had noticed me, Harry.

If only you'd noticed the desperation in my eyes whenever you'd accidentally brush your shoulder against mine. If only you'd noticed my fingernails, painted red in remembrance of you. If only you liked girls for something besides the way they looked or the way they dressed. This all could've been avoided. You still would've had your top notch school life, and your close knit group of friends, and the smile that made every girl turn into putty. You'd still have the things that truly mattered. Things like happiness and content and friendship. But you lost all of it. You chose her over everyone. Even me.

And I was furious. I was furious because I wanted to be her. I wanted to feel your hand encased in mine, held on with a grip so strong it ached. I wanted to feel your velvet brown curls tickling the side of my cheek, or the radiation of warmth from your skin transferring to mine. I wanted to be the one to feel your hips rocking in sync with mine, until we were sweaty faced and out of breath. I wanted to be the girl that stole your innocence from you, because I was the only one that truly deserved it, the only one that knew you well enough to have it.

But none of that mattered to you, did it? Because I was just some obsessed girl from the first grade that you couldn't even seem to remember. I was the long forgotten best friend, good riddance. I was always the one everyone left out, because who ever thought of any one but themselves?

Digging my nails further into my thigh, I pulled, relishing in the sweet, victorious feeling of pain. Your lips finally detached from hers, and I breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the blood from my digits onto the side of my skirt. Flipping to the next page of my textbook, pretending as if I had something better to do besides watch you snog the only girl I loathed, I let out another quiet sigh as I noticed you both split into your separate ways.

I waited. I waited a few longing, torturous moments before scrapping my chair back, following you step by step, only a few feet away from being able to graze you with the tips of my bloodied hand. And you still didn't notice. You didn't feel my scathing eyes biting into your flesh, you didn't hear the thick heels of my boots distantly clapping, louder and louder, faster and faster, weeping, dragging, sweeping. You hadn't seen me with your own two eyes, the eyes that I stupidly fell in love with.

You never did. You never saw me. Never noticed me. Never even gave me the time of day.

Oh, if only...

Hey guys, I'm back at it with this train wreck of a story. Plz don't read if you're easily triggered. Gracias.

SERIOUS WARNINGS: SELF HARM, THOUGHTS OF SELF HARM, MURDER, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, AND MANY, MANY OTHER EXPLICIT THEMES. THIS STORY IS STRICTLY FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

I promise I'm not crazy bro I just got this random ass idea