A.N./Disclaimer: I do not own Pretty Little Liars or its characters. This piece is my own. Also, if you don't like fancy wording or Emison, this probably isn't the fic for you. For those who do decide to read this, I do hope that you all enjoy! I do not intend to follow up with a companion piece for Alison. This one is told in first person and it's from the point of view of Emily Fields. Though, I'm sure that goes without saying if you read the summary.
It begins with a should. Not a do or even a should have, but a should.
I should HATE her. Loathe her with my entire being, in fact. Too many times has a stolen kiss served as the precursor to an onslaught of teasing remarks. Too many times have sheepish glances acquainted themselves with shameless pride - shimmering bright within baby blues. The gentle tugging of lightly glossed lips beckoning for me to muster up the courage to ravish them senseless. With each burst of hope that she was kind enough to provide to me, came the inevitable shattering of areas of my glass heart. Eventually, the parts that remained intact crumbled away as well. What? Becoming permanently separated from your girlfriend can deal quite the amount of damage to someone. Anyone. The drunken slurs contained by random flasks that caressed whiskey stained lips in summertime can attest to that. Yet, in the bitter end, none can deny that the one to ignite the spark that would ultimately blow my heart to smithereens is none other than my first love.
I tell myself that I do. That I never want to see her again. That life would be ten thousand times better were she to simply melt away into painful memories of a time never to be returned to. With Paige miles upon miles away with no promise of an eventual return to fulfill, it becomes increasingly difficult to prevent my mind - consumed by troublesome thoughts that refuse to lie dormant - from drifting into frightful territory. From contemplating those chaste kisses that were planted upon my neck in the darkness provided by towering bookshelves. Most of the time, recalling my distaste for the word 'practice' is an effective tactic. How could I possibly grant her access to the remnants of a hopeful girl when I know that she is not above twisting them for pure amusement? While she may have softly informed me of the truth - that that unforgettable statement that haunts my conscience never carried any weight, my perception cannot be altered. An apology holds not the power to erase that which has already come to transpire. Nothing will change the fact that polished heels trampled my heart - that she did indeed make me believe that terrible lie.
The more sensible part of me realizes the danger in pursuing a path leading back to that crown of sunshine locks. A tongue that has long since become accustomed to constructing false tales so as to manipulate others into tending to the desires and needs of its owner is one that only knows ruin. It is not able to resist the temptation to taint purity. For it to leave innocence untouched would be the birth of a miracle. Not that any resides within me anymore. In any case, the point is that entwining my fate with her own will surely catapult me into an inescapable world that features an endless supply of lies. Frequently being deceived into doing her bidding. Into blinding the authorities with glamorized words that are completely devoid of sincerity. A logical view that will doubtlessly spare me much suffering.
Yet, the true dilemma is that emotions are constantly at war with logic. These feelings that disturb what little peace my heart clings to with desperation cannot be smothered into nothingness. That disarming smile of hers that is revealed to me when she means to converse with her admirer. The way feminine digits trace paths of fire against exposed regions of flesh. All of it entrances me. Breathless is the state that I am left in when in her presence in those tender moments. A goodness echoes gentle promises of travels to places that I have learned of but never visited. In picturesque fields of sunflowers will defenses evaporate and happiness arrive by means of girlish giggles. My younger self - a girl who knew nothing of the horrors that would later arise to plague my sleep - would have leapt at the opportunity to accompany her elsewhere. To not only be alone with the conqueror of my heart, but to be absolutely free of stress with her as well. To be content with ourselves and the ever changing world around us. Given the naivety that clouded those doe eyes through which that poor swimmer witnessed the occurring of everyday routines, she cannot be faulted for becoming mesmerized by such a promise. What unnerves me is the fact that despite all of the friction that has sizzled between us in the past few months, there is a part of me that is still not averse to begging for the chance to share seemingly pleasant memories with her. What I wouldn't do to mend our relationship...
So, here I am, once more. Enduring a game of tug of war that has been initiated by these contrasting feelings.
It is among chilled sheets of cotton that I find that simplicity is underrated.
FIN
I hope that you all enjoyed this.