Silent | HS

07.

song: wet dream by wet leg ;)
highly recommend listening at a *certain* point in this chapter xoxo

"Sapphire Gomez?"

There's something so satisfying about watching a girl sink to her knees.

Normally, I do all the sinking. I bruise my knees for girls because I don't want them to touch me the same way she touched me. Completely different circumstances, but it felt the same way. I can't help but resemble the touch, a whole new aura of doom dropping from the sky and creating a bubble around me.

However, the more and more I began to grow careless, the less I cared about being touched like that.

It fills the inevitable void that threatens to flood right through me until im no longer granted any oxygen.

It's almost funny.

I was doing just fine without Zealia. 

I finally got the closure I searched day and night for.  I stopped thinking about her and the reasons as to why she left me that day, I stopped blaming myself and I began to look at life a different way.  We were so naive and clueless back then - so sure that we'd be close forever because we were so close at the time.

Life doesn't work like that.

I use to be so close with so many people that now I only hear about once in a blue moon.  Hearing about my old friend's success while I sit at home most days, a drink as my company while their company is their husbands, wives and children.  They don't worry about money the same way I do and they don't need to do things to earn money.

When Zealia and I were close, we had this dream.  She would work on it all day while it sit in awe of her talents.  She was so incredibly smart but she always underestimated her intelligence. 

And our dream was that one day we'd run our own business.

She'd do fashion and I'd do makeup because it was something that always intrigued me.  Not because i necessarily wanted to wear it, but because I looked at makeup as more of a mask.  I liked the expressions you could do with art and the ability to make emotions look so beautiful — and that's what I focused on.

Art.

Makeup and art.

The art of darkness.

The art of destruction.

The art of beauty.

The art of...

"That's me," she broke me from my thoughts.  She focuses her weight onto one foot and smiles welcomingly,  "Come in....?"

I toss my cigarette elsewhere and take a step inside as she moves to the side.  

Her house was... cosy.

Small, but not smaller than my house.   Various paintings hung on the wall of what I assumed to be her family and friends.  I wonder if the eyes behind these photos know what their friend and daughter gets up to at night.   Probably not — the art of innocence is its all an act.