Girl (completed)

38

   "Blaire, can we talk about last night?" John asked in the morning, and I just read over the paper, reading the same line for the hundreth time. It was a bit hard to concentrate on the paper when you felt empty.
   "What is there to talk about? Nothing happened, and it was a mistake. I'd rather move past it," I said apathetically, and finally set the paper down. He was reading me with curious eyes; looking for any reaction.
   "Was it? A mistake, I mean," he said, and I sighed, shrugging.
   "Honestly, I don't know, John. Maybe," I said honestly, and he sighed.
   "I'm so sorry," he said, and took my hands in his. He felt so warm, and so damn familiar. Maybe that's what made me pull away. I could feel myself beginning to fall hard, but I had to hold on.
   "Sorry? For what?" I asked, and he retracted his hands, fiddling with them now under the table.
  "You can't pretend, Blaire. Not with me," he said, and I furrowed my eyebrows in anger.
  "I'm not pretending. I'm fine," I said through gritted teeth, and he looked at me as if I was a child.
   "Come on, Blaire," he said, and I gasped in shock at his sudden behavior.
   "No. I'm fine, John. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I'm not some little girl that's lost, okay?! I'm fine!" I yelled, and his eyes widened in surprise. He looked startled.
  "Blaire, I'm sorry. Calm down. You're scaring the babies," he said, and I laughed, rolling my eyes.
  "Don't patronize me, okay? I thought you were better than that," I said, and abruptly sttod up, walking away from the kitchen table, leaving him with a hurt expression and bacon that was getting cold.
  "Blaire, wait!" He said, chasing after me, but I was already slipping through the open door and right through his fingers. But once again, he just let me go.
  I got in the car and drove. I don't remember a thing, but looking out onto the newly-risen sun and feeling my anger melt away temporarily.
  I don't remember pulling into the driveway, or even knocking on the door, but I do remember how the air left my lungs when he opened the door. It was like seeing a ghost right in front of me.
  "Blaire?" He asked, and I nodded, staring at him in wonderment. I was entranced with the very rugged features of his face.
  "Taylor, it's been a while," I said, and he looked down uncomfortably, and that's when I remembered. He wasn't just a ghost. He was the man that I had previously been so deeply in love with, and I shouldn't be here.
  "Come in," he said, and I walked in, wanting nothing more than to walk back out and tell him that j had made a mistake.
  "You look good," I commented, and he shut the door behind me. I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the coat rack, turning back to him expectantly.
  "As do you, Blaire," he said, and I smiled politely, the silence hanging in the air and causing tension, "not to be rude, but what are you doing here?" He asked, and I felt the urgency that he was projecting. The urgency for me to leave.
  "I shouldn't be here," I said, and he was obviously waiting for a "but" however, I didn't have one.
  "No, you shouldn't," he agreed, and it was like a punch to the gut, "but you are, and there's no changing that."
  "I am so sorry that I am bothering you. I can leave?" I offered, and he shook his head.
  "That's not why I'm angry," he said, and I looked at him; oblivious to his reasoning.
  "Oh," was all that I could muster, but luckiky, he talked for me.
  "I was so upset when you didn't call," he said, and I looked at him curiously.
  "Oh."
  "I mean, it was happening to me too, you know? I saw you once, through a shop window. You looked sad, and for a moment, I had hope. I thought that maybe you missed me, but then I saw an interview with the boys come on the displayed TVs, and you watched it meticulously. It was like you were in some sort of trance or something. Well then you started crying, and I walked away," he said, and I wiped away the small droplets beading my eyes.
  "Why did you walk away? We could've been together," I said, and this all felt too familiar. It was just like a conversation I had with John more than a year ago, but it felt like ages ago.
  "Because I realized that it wasn't me that you were crying for. Not anymore," he said sadly, and I looked away guiltily.
  "I'm sorry," I said simply, and he shrugged.
  "I know that you are," he said, and I just let the tears silently fall, splashing onto my shirt.
  "Your father just gave me the money, and I didn't even think twice," I explained, and he nodded, hugging me. At first, it was tense, but then I let go and melted into it.
  "Are they beautiful?" He asked, and I cried harder, sobs wracking my body.
  "The most beautiful things I'd ever seen," I said, and he nodded.
  "Can you just mail me some photos?" He requested.
  "Don't be ridiculous. Come over. See then," I bargained, and he shook his head.
  "I can't. It's too sad. Please, Blaire. Just promise me that you will," he said, and I nodded my head.
  "I promise."
  The ride home seemed to stretch forever, and I enjoyed it. When I pulled into the driveway, I just sat for a while, contemplating.
  "Where have you been?" John asked, and I set my bad down, looking him in the eyes sadly.
  "Nowhere," I said sadly, and he stood to embrace me, but I pulled away, screaming hysterically.
  "Stop! Don't touch me!" I screamed, and he put his hands up, taking two steps back.
   "Blaire, I just wanted to comfort you," he explained slowly, scared that I would freak out at any moment.
   "You can't! I don't feel anything anmore, John. Can't you see that?" I asked him quietly, and then the black blobs clouded my vision, sending my head spirilng and my body to the ground.
•••
Well I think this got better