Eyes Bright, Uptight {EDITING}

// don't you know that people write songs about girls like you //

Sorry for the short length, I am quite tired but really wanted to write this. Whew. This is hard. Please enjoy this gif of Matty being the priceless gem that he is. Love you all so much!

Play "Girls Like You" by The Naked and Famous

{Claire's POV}

George and I had been lying to ourselves and each other; acting as if we could continue this friendship, despite our feelings for each other. My brain was muck; my heart zig-zagging and doing loops beneath my ribs.

I had no idea what I truly wanted, let alone what I really needed.

The flight to Chicago wasn't so bad. I was seated next to an elderly lady with a white bob and lipstick on her teeth. She was going to visit her granddaughter, and she spoke endlessly of how proud of her she was, how much she adored her, but she was a little disheartened because they didn't spend so much time with each other now that she was in college and finding herself as an adult.

It was that kind of love that I thought was true; the kind where you love the person nonetheless, even if it isn't reciprocated all the time. The kind where you accept the person for what they are, and give them all of you regardless of how little you get in return.

The more I thought about love, the more nauseated I felt, especially in the back of this cab. The fabric wasn't in terrible shape, but it was absolutely saturated with the smell of old cigarette smoke, mildew, probably vomit. I thought of how many people had been in the back of this cab; how many stories they had to tell, endless and unwavering.

I needed to write. I needed to put this horrible, sticky, and slurred mess of my train of thoughts onto crisp, concise little letters. Maybe then it would start to make sense.

It was March 23, George's birthday, and the afternoon was cold and grey. The boys were near the end of their American tour, as I was nearing the end of my spring break. I'd never been to the windy city, and wanted to surprise George. I had a special present in mind for him. It wasn't anything particularly creative, but good suprises don't always have to be. George was rarely disappointed in anything I did.

"Claire McDaniel, I have a reservation," I said to the clerk behind the desk.

Her facial features were slightly different, but her build and hair were exactly like Harper Halifax's. I was insantly snippy with the clerk for no good reason now, other than the fact that she reminded me of a demon from my not-so-distant pass.

"Great, ma'am. Will you be needing help with your bags?" she asked me.

I glanced at my two rolling suitcases, a clear indication I had completely overpacked for a weekend stay. "Yes, thank you."

The woman glanced for a belhop to gather my belongings.

"Will you need anything else, miss?" she asked.

And here goes the Clare McDaniel plan of action.

"Actually, yes. I'll need you to give my hotel key to a...friend of mine," I explained. It was always so hard to describe my relatonship with George. "He's staying at the hotel already."

Her big blue eyes blinked beneath her cat-eye glasses and she toyed wth her green and blue paisley printed scarf for a moment. "And his name is?"

"Uhm," I cleared my throat. "George. George Daniel."

Her fingernails clicked at the computer, and her eyes darted back and forth from the screen to my apologetic and embarrassed face.

"Miss," she cleared her throat, as if trying to let me down easily. "There's no one here by that name."