a/n: agh, I love The Lying Game. I got inspiration from a past episode, because it really rocked, and I just wanted to write something. (I can't believe there are only nine fics on the fandom!) This is experimental and definitely a different sort of drabble. Enjoy?
torn beloved
i.
(it's-)
facades and infatuations and mosquito bites on floral-scented skin
ii.
Emma likes good boys. He doesn't really care about that.
(because Ethan, Ethan's an uncharted labyrinth)
iii.
Emma's just full of insecurity and hopelessness and a happiness she can't cling to for much longer.
She admits that she likes life, and all the vigor and vitality and good inspiration it brings, but she will renounce that she has a thing for bad boys. Because she doesn't. really. like. bad. boys.
(lies never last)
iv.
Ethan sits on his hill and entwines his fingers into the flighty grass; he throws his head into the cool breeze and soaks in the stars' presence, until it feels humane.
He wants what he shouldn't really.. have.
v.
He stares at her in her another one of those designer outfits- neon orange heels with big clunks attached and a flowy, geometric shirt. She smiles, and he drowns in that kiddy dusk.
vi.
She's off on one of her long ponderings about her sister (his damn girlfriend); he realizes that he can't take this suspense of just not knowing.
He takes her into his arms, making her pliant with his caresses and kisses her, until she moans and fingers his hair and stares deep into him; her melted chocolate orbs slide into his heart to be forever imprinted.
Ethan kindasorta likes this girl.
vii.
She invites him into her room; he's not sure why as he always crawls in anyway, but she proclaims that it's just more special.
She presses her sharp nail into his thumb and timidly asks what they're doing. He jerks his hand away and averts his eyes.
Her disbelieving you still love her rings inside of his mind, until it pounds unbearably, and his legs race for his bike.
viii.
He watches her from the patio door; she's pacing and tears are gleaming conspicuously in her eyes. Her laptop dings loudly; she races to the screen and he watches her hand slam across the ignore.
He doesn't want that.
(it's never hard to break things.)
ix.
He valets at the country club and traps her in the staff room, their bodies pressed together, until he can almost imagine them as one.
They're both sweating, their lips bruised a mauve shade; he rubs his nose against hers, explaining that Eskimo kisses always make it better. She giggles, eyes serious and melancholy.
He says he's sorry into her perspiring collarbone.
x.
He wants her for himself.
Only and forever.
xi.
She answers her sister's web calls. He gasps into the chilly air and observes her hands motioning wildly, and he helplessly wonders what she's telling her sister.
He hopes it's not about them.
(he doesn't want this fairytale to end)
xii.
She lets him sleep in her bed, until the sun breaks through a crack in the curtains, and she shoves him into her closet.
She kisses him until he can't stand it; he tries to push her down on the floor, but Emma- she just won't allow it. She grimaces, a neat blush fanning across her cheeks, and shoos' him out into the frigid morning air.
He grins giddily into the welcoming breeze.
xiii.
He visits her at school. She's sitting on a brick wall, her feet rhythmically tapping the other; he watches until he just can't resist. He creeps towards her.
A flaxen-headed boy steps up to her first and sweeps her up into his arms, kissing her cheeks, and he feels his jaw drop and the blood pour out of his cheeks.
He runs to this unknown enemy and slams his fist into his mouth, feeling his warm, salty blood coating his hand. She's on him, her arms tightly wrapping around him, and screaming, screaming that he's just a friend.
He flees like the coward he is.
xiv.
His knuckles redden and bleed, and she sneaks to his place and kisses them.
He wonders why she's not mad.
She simply pecks him on the cheek and disappears into the dark.
xv.
They hold hands on the hill and whisper themselves into a drunken slumber; he awakens with a wracking pain but a bodily warmth reclining in his arms.
She blinks lazily up at him, face spreading into a languorous grin.
xvi.
(they are-)
reality and tans and moonlight and unfucked-up love.
.
a/n: Um, yeah. That was weird and terrible. Forget that and review anyway?(: