Girl (completed)

29

  "Blaire, I feel like you haven't really forgiven me," John said when he came into the kitchen, and I sighed, flipping over a pancake.
  "I have," I assured him, but I didn't really know how I felt.
  "Okay, if you say so," he sulked, but his words didn't ring true. I could hear the doubt in his voice. He came behind me and hugged me, wrapping his arms around my torso and looking over my shoulder.
  "You're getting big," he exclaimed, and I rolled my eyes.
  "Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically, and he winced.
  "I didn't mean it like that."
  "Whatever," I said, pulling out of his grasp. His scent was now sour to me, his touch sickening.
  He sighed, but didn't say anything. Maybe it was best that he didn't. But not because I hated him, because I loved him. Every time I looked into those eyes, or heard his voice, I fell in love with him. Maybe that's why I hated him, because I couldn't. It just wasn't possible.
  A knock rang out, and I walked briskly to the door, silently thanking the interrupter for saving me.
  "Hello?" I called as I opened the door, and it was Paul.
  "Hey Blaire!" He said, and I smiled.
  "Are you here to see John?" I asked, and he bit his cheek, pulling his arm from around his back to produce flowers.
  "Paul! You minx!" I laughed, and welcomed him in. I trimmed the flowers, and put them into a vase.
  "Where did you get that bruise?" He questioned, and lightly stroked my cheek.
  Just as I opened my mouth to answer, John cake walking in.
  "Paul?" He asked, looking for him to me and frowning.
  "Hi, I just stopped by to see Blaire," Paul explained, and a certain tension was present in the room. John seemed to be surveying the tension with his eyes, glaring at me, but I pretended to be oblivious, instead smelling the flowers.
"Oh," he said simply, and I looked up at Paul, smiling.
"Shall we go on a walk then?" I proposed, and he nodded.
  "We'll be back in a jiffy," I told John, and we walked out before he could say anything.
  "How have you been?" He asked, and I shrugged, stopping to look at a house with a white picket fence and a dog in the front.
  "I've been alright," I said, my eyes not tearing away from the house for even a moment.
"Where did you get that bruise, Blaire?" He asked again, and I tore my eyes away from the house to look at him, snapping out of my trace-like state.
"Umm..." I said, unsure of what to do, which only made him look more concerned, "I fell?" I said, raising my voice at the end to where it posed as more of a question.
  "You're a horrible liar. What happened? Was it John?" He asked, and I froze. I gulped, and didn't respond, which was answer enough for him.
"Blaire..." he said, and I looked away, unsure of what to say, and tears blinded my vision.
"Can we just pretend...?" I asked, and took out a cigarette, handing me one too. I took it and he lit it.
"Pretend?" He asked, and I puffed on my cig, letting the smoke billow from my mouth, closing my eyes tightly.
"When I was a girl, and I was sad, I would always pretend to be somewhere far, far away," I explained, smiling at the thought. I then frowned as I remembered my six year old self, huddled in the corner while my parents fought, my eyes closed.
"Sure, Blaire. We can pretend to be far, far away," he said finally, and I felt him close his eyes with me. Tears trailed down my face, leaving black trails of mascara as I imagined.
I imagined myself in a house similar to the one we had just passed; a white picket fence, a dog in the front yard. I imagined kids, and the smell of dinner wafting throughout the house. I imagined myself smiling, much contrast to how I appeared now.
Tears streaming down my cheeks, trailing, and flowing through the ends of my face. The cold nipping at my wet cheeks, and a broken heart lying within my chest.
•••
Well. Okay. I'm super sad rn and I think that's being portrayed in my books. Sorry if this sucks.