in which a broken-hearted boy describes the after effect of losing love and friendship.
meet grayson, a boy whose mind works as fast as his heart beats, and loves as much as he can. this is the life of a boy who lost everything.
**completed**
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i made the wrong decision to go a party. it wasn't even one where i'd know anyone. it was a party that a guy from nichole's new school was hosting, and she wanted me to go with her. she claimed it would "cure my blues" or some bullshit excuse like that, which basically translates to "i need someone to take care of me while i'm drunk, and you're my best friend". i despised the idea of nichole being drunk. i loved nichole. i loved everything about her. i loved the freckle on her right index finger, and the way her hair curls up at the tips sometimes. i loved the way her eyes brightened whenever we walked into the sunshine, and i loved how her words echoed through the walls. everyone saw her when she walked through any room because she was spectacular. she was beautiful, and i genuinely marveled at the simple idea that i got to know her. although she would never love me like i loved her, nobody would ever know her like i knew her, and maybe that could almost be enough. maybe.
nichole being drunk horrified me because i didn't want her to get hurt. i wanted her to be happy, and sane, and the last thing i want is for her to be intoxicated. i had never seen her drunk before. nichole used to be like i used to be. used to. before olivia died; before our life's turned around.
i agreed to go; of course i did. nichole could drag me to do anything, and i'd do it for her. i'd drop down on my knees and i'd do the unexpected for her. i wish she saw that. but i also hope she doesn't because if she does, maybe she was dragging me on. i don't think i would care if she was. i don't think i'd care if nichole used me; i think i'd like it. because her using me was so much better than her not being here at all. and maybe that was pathetic, but i loved her.
she arrived at my house approximately six minutes and thirty-two seconds after she said she would be there. pathetic that i knew that, sure, but i cared too much about her. i opened my front door when she knocked, and i swear i felt my jaw physically drop to my feet.
she looked beautiful.
she was beautiful. she was wearing a black dress that ended half way to her knee, and her hair was tied up in some sort of braid ordeal. she looked phenomenal, with her porcelain skin peaking through the dress, and her eyes sparkling with excitement. i smiled at her because i was at loss for words, and it was the only way i could greet her.
"are you ready?" she spoke. she spoke so softly that i was barely able to hear it, but i paid attention. i still couldn't speak. i couldn't think. nichole was so...nichole. she was so nichole that it took the breath from my lungs and replaced it with anticipation and butterflies. i felt my stomach turn in lust, and all i wanted was to kiss her shoulder where she had her little scar from falling off her bike in the sixth grade. i wanted to kiss her neck where her freckles formed constellations, and i wanted to kiss her cheek with its' light pink tint. i wanted to embrace her and hold her until she never felt sadness again and god, she looked so beautiful in this light. i almost forgot what time it was and where we were supposed to be going.
