The Perfect Girl

38

"She lets it go,                                                                                                                                                                              It means more than she could know,"                      

Hiba's POV

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, reaching a hand up to wipe the tears on my cheeks away.

I felt vulnerable and it made me angry.

"I'm fine," I said, pushing his hand away and rubbing my face, "I'll be fine."

"Sure you are," he said disbelievingly, "I know you will be.  But you're not right now."

Khalid was looking at me with that intense look again.  I couldn't decide if I hated or loved that stare.  It was so beautiful in the most terrifying way.  His eyes were so dark, so, so dark, like ink or the sky at night.   

He ran his hand through his hair, and something about the way a strand of it fell back over his forehead made my chest expand.  He twisted his fingers, squeezed his hand into a fist, then let it drop by his side.

He tried to take my hand.

I couldn't do it, couldn't do this right now.  I didn't want to seek comfort in the warmth of his touch, that wasn't the answer, and as strange as it sounds, I didn't want to feel loved.

Maybe it was that I had ached for so long to have someone who noticed me, who cared about me, that now that I had become accustomed to the pain and didn't know what to do without it.  Maybe it was that I didn't want to admit that not only did I love Khalid but I was loved by Khalid, because admitting it felt like accepting something that the cynical part of me refused to believe was possible.  Maybe it was that my mind was at constant war with itself about Khalid, because it cared too much about him to want him to care about me but it also wanted him to care about me so very badly.

That's the thing, I suppose, about loving someone else when you do not love yourself.

When you love someone, you want what's best for them, which means you want them to be with someone worthy of them.  And when you do not love yourself you do not feel worthy of them.

I did not feel worthy of Khalid.

"Sweetheart?" he murmured, tapping my nose, "Where are you?"

"Here." I said, shrugging his finger away.

"Love, you know what I mean.  Where's your head at?"

"Here," I repeated.

"Sure," he muttered, tried to cup my face in his hands.

I pulled away.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked, exasperated.

"I just am," I mumbled.

"Well, don't," he said and tried to hold my hand again.

I fisted my hand, ripped it away, guilty but trying hard to hang on to whatever was left of my sanity.

"Hiba!" he protested, "Stop it, sweetheart."

"What is up with that?" I asked, mostly to change the subject, "You went from love to sweetheart."

"Do you prefer love?"

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"Well," he smirked, "Then don't worry about it." he paused, gave me a look, "Stop trying to distract me, sweetheart, why are you pulling away all of a sudden?"

"I just don't want you to touch me."

"Why?" he asked, "That's all I want to know."

"I-I just--"

I could feel my body beginning to collapse, and I think he noticed too, because he wrapped his arms around me.

"Is this okay, love?" he asked.

I nodded without wanting to.  And once I was in his arms, I couldn't seem to think of why not to be.

I liked the way Khalid held me, the way his nose and lips pressed against my shoulder and the feeling of his lashes fluttering against my skin when he blinked.  I liked how strong his arms were and how broad his shoulders were, the way he felt like a warm blanket on a cold day.  I liked how he smelt, and I liked how gentle he was with me, like I was precious, like I was the only good thing that had ever been handed to him and it didn't matter because I was good enough to make up for all the bad things.

But then he let go, because that's what we all have to do-- right?-- let go.