It started as second person POV, and then kind of morphed into Imogen's first person – but, no, I don't think that in the show's reality her character is nearly as malevolent as I've painted her to be here. At any rate, enjoy.
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Correct Me if I'm Wrong.
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Your name is Clare Edwards, and you're an excellent liar.
Those kids at school, they're oblivious. They still see Saint Clare with a ring on her finger and a book in her hand – they still buy into to that little charade you play.
And no one knows that underneath that silver band and that perfect GPA, you have no idea what the hell you're doing. You have no idea who the hell you are. But, if there's one thing in this whole world that you do know, it's that you're not the girl they see. Not anymore.
Maybe, just maybe, you never were.
You've kept up the act well, though. I'm impressed. For a prop girl, you're a decent little actress. You walk around school with a smile on your face and a twinkle in your eye, and no one suspects a thing. The thing is, I don't think anyone even wants to. Because, Clare Edwards, you're the light of this school, you're the innocence and the kindness and the girl that reminds everyone here that not all teenagers are screwed over. A few of us have managed to maintain our composure, our dignity. Our control.
And that's you. You have all the control in the world. Why, the vow etched into your silver finger and the college acceptance letters pouring in – they're all proof, are they not?
But you and I both know that the only real proof is the smile on your face and the twinkle in your eye. You and I both know that the smile is forced. You and I both know that if you look closely, you'll see that that twinkle is no more than a crystal tear.
God, you're a fake, Clare Edwards. And all it takes is someone like me to screw you over. I could ruin you.
In fact, I've already torn you apart inside, haven't I? Because it's me kissing his lips now. It's me putting him back together, fixing what you broke. It's me whose shoulders his delicacy rests on.
And, even though you have much too great a burden on your back already, you still wish it were you.
It pains you that he can't see this, too. It pains you that, after all this time, Eli Goldsworthy is buying into the act you're putting on just like everyone else. Because he's forgotten the little things about you, Clare. He's forgotten the way you'll let your bangs fall into you eyes when you're sad and the way you'll clench and unclench your fists when your frustrated.
He's accustomed to my habits now.
You've lost him.
That other boy you drag around, he means nothing that you wish could be everything. You wish Jake Martin could be your everything. But all you do is close your eyes at night and think of all the reasons why you should love him.
Because he's attractive.
Because he's smart and funny.
Because he's uncomplicated and easy to handle.
Because your mother loves him.
Because he loves you, and Eli Goldsworthy doesn't.
And, most importantly, Jake Martin is perfect for you because he's completely oblivious to the charade.
These reasons run through your pretty little mind all night and when they're through, you clamp your eyes shut tighter and you grip the bed sheets with tearing force, attempting to understand why, despite all the reasons you should love Jake Martin, you don't – and you probably never will.
You think and you reason, and you use all the methods the fake Clare Edwards would use to solve one of her AP algebra problems. You do that until you just want to scream.
And – mark my words, Clare Edwards – keep this little act up, and, one day, you will scream. One day, when no one is home and the cabin is empty and still, that tear that is mistaken for a twinkle will finally pool over. Sobs will roll through your chest, and you'll scream until there is nothing left of you. You'll cry away the façade you've put on, and you'll never recover it.
And when the damage is done, and your face is flushed, you'll have nothing to hide behind anymore. For once in your whole life, you'll feel completely vulnerable as everyone realizes what a fake you truly are.
They'll see everything I've been seeing for ages.
You'll probably break down, you'll lose everything, and you'll teeter over sanity.
And do you know what I'll do, Clare Edwards?
Oh, little old me, I'll just chuckle and squeeze his hand tighter. Eli Goldsworthy will look down at you and remember when he, too, was broken and battered – and we'll both sneer at the irony of it all.
Then he'll do to you what you did to him. He'll leave you there, broken and scared. He'll leave you there for someone else to try to pick up the pieces while he starts over with me. And the only thing that will be different about your circumstance is that there will be no one left to care about you as I cared about him.
Right now, you're hanging on, Clare. But those dainty little fingers of yours can't support the weight of your heavy heart for too much longer. It'll be a slow process, but I'm a good waiter. I waited for him to put behind the death of that dark-haired girl forever riding a demolished bicycle, and I waited for the scared little fifteen year-old you used to be to abandon him when he couldn't support himself.
And I can wait for your downfall, Clare Edwards.
But just know that, when it does come, I had seen it from miles away. Think of this as my early "I-told-you-so." Because, by the time you finally lose everything, I won't be around to offer it.
No, Eli Goldsworthy and I, we'll be long gone by then.
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Reviews would be splendid.