My humble contribution to the flood of post-"Run Away, Little Boy" fics. I'm a gloomy person. Just so you know.
One Last Kiss
He remembers the first kiss, the only kiss: the scent of her hair and the pensive look in her eyes that had enchanted him; the heady fragrance of her perfume as he had leaned in, closer and closer; the softness of her lips and the taste of her mouth. It had been the defining moment in his life. It had been like that line from that movie. "You make me want to be a better person." So he had tried. For her. Because of her.
Few people know the suffocating feeling that comes from existing for one person only, especially when that person doesn't reciprocate those same feelings. The feeling of insignificance after being ignored or dismissed, or the elation from a smile, or even the fluttering heart and spine tingles from a look of acknowledgment. It had been hard getting through each day knowing that one person held the power to make or break him. He had been pleased when a tentative friendship had formed. He had been given hope.
But hope didn't spring eternal. He had not been able to change so easily. He had been used to getting everything he wanted, when he wanted it. Instant gratification, thy name is Tristin Dugrey. He had never had to work for the attentions of a girl. He had never cared for a girl as much as he cared for her. He had longed to mean something, anything, to her, even if it was only the smallest measure of what he felt for her. He had begun to grow impatient, trying to push her into feeling something more for him than she could. He hadn't understood why she wasn't falling for him. Hadn't he dropped the attitude? Dropped the act?
PJ Harvey. The last ditch effort. The anti-climax. The event that should have been the big bang, the climactic turning point. Instead, it had been a pathetic whimpering death. To have come so far only to be left where he started, with nothing to show for it. After that terrible day, he had rebelled. Given up. Simple as that. A guy can only put up with so much. If he couldn't win her over being the "good guy," then what was the point of trying?
He had told himself that he was just dropping the facade, dropping the nice guy act. Deep down, he had known he was only building yet another wall around his soul. He had shrugged it off, truly believing he could care less. He had spent the summer drowning himself in shallow girls and even more shallow friends. He had fallen in with the wrong crowd. It had made him feel powerful, as if he was in control of his own actions. She had become a shadow, something he could dismiss from his mind as easily as she had dismissed him from her life.
His reckless attitude had carried over into the new school year. Tristin Dugrey, the golden boy of Chilton, had been suspended so many times he had actually been threatened by his parents. Ha! As if they had really cared anyway. He felt different. As if he hadn't a care in the world. He could do whatever he wanted, because frankly, he could have cared less. Not even a blip on the radar. He had fooled himself into believing that she held no power over him, that he was no longer a slave to the blinding passion with which he had been so consumed.
He had asked to be put in her group. Not because of the ex-girlfriends. Not even to try to win her over. But to prove to himself, once and for all, that she meant nothing. It had been a challenge. And Tristin Dugrey had never been one to back down from a challenge.
He remembers strolling into the classroom. The look of utter shock directed at him from those expressive, deep blue eyes had been forever seared into his memory. Even the daggers that Paris had been shooting at him through her biting insults and sarcasm were nothing compared to the way that familiar blue gaze had pierced his heart, opening old wounds. He hadn't been able to resist plopping down next to her, unconsciously reminding her of his presence. As if to say he still existed without her, didn't need her at all, in fact.
So why had he ached to take her into his arms? To beg her to release him from his self imposed prison? He had seen her since the new school year started. But only from a distance, when he had been certain that she was absorbed in her own world. As soon as he had been up close to her, when he had become conscious of the fact that she was beautiful and real and sitting right next to him, the waves of longing and resignation had dragged him back out to sea. He had been drowning in his own inability to be someone she could love.
He had longed to connect with her, to make her see him. Being around her had reminded him of what he lacked inside. She is the one who could have reformed him, but she is also the one who had driven him to self destruction. She had been the center of his universe, his everything.
But she had no use for him. She had it all: the fairy tale first love, the warm family, the charmed existence. He had been complicated and raw and he hadn't fit into her pastel world of clouds and bluebirds. He never could. She had been content with the daydream. She hadn't wanted the reality. She hadn't wanted to open herself up to the possibility that things could be different, better. In his moments of weakness, he had wished he could be someone else. It didn't matter who. Anyone. Someone worthy of her love.
He had hidden behind his mask of uncaring and indifference. He hadn't given her any reason to care about him, to regard him with anything more than dislike and hostility. But she had still broken through the surface, delving into his scarred emotions. It had always been intrinsic in her genuinely caring nature. It had scared him that she could so easily strip him of his defenses and get to the heart of the matter. But she hadn't realized that she had that gift and had never dug deeply enough.
Saying good bye to her had almost broken him. He hadn't been able to leave without bidding her farewell. After all, she had been the one who had driven him to every single action he had committed since he met her. He had torn off the mask and bared his soul to her. Why not? He had nothing left to lose. It had warmed his heart to see her flustered, trying to think of a way to make everything better. But it had been too late. Even she couldn't have saved him then.
He remembers how his heart had lurched when he had realized that it was really good bye. She had no idea. She hadn't even begun to comprehend the effects she had on him. She would never understand. As intelligent as she is, she is naive. She hadn't believed herself to be capable of changing one person so completely. She had shown him love, though he had never been able to touch it himself.
He would have given anything for one last kiss. One more affirmation of the emotions that still surged through his veins as strong as ever. One last chance at redemption.
But he wouldn't do that to her. She doesn't deserve to bear his weaknesses and insecurities on her soul. She should remain pure, clean from his filthy past. He hadn't wanted her last memory of him to be one of disgust. In that last conversation, they had connected. His heart had flip flopped in his chest as he stared at her, memorizing her face, knowing that she would never belong to him.
He swallows the rage rising up from within him, suppressing the urge to yell that it isn't fair. That he needs her. That he will die without her. How fitting that she was Juliet to his Romeo. He can feel his love for her poisoning his soul, drenching it in his heartache. With a deep breath, he buries that part of him. Who is he kidding? Spoiled rich boys love money. Nothing else. Never anything else. In his mind, he kisses her good bye, weeks too late. The last few tethers to deeper emotion and human understanding loosen. The mask is firmly back in place. His true face will not be revealed again.
One Last Kiss
He remembers the first kiss, the only kiss: the scent of her hair and the pensive look in her eyes that had enchanted him; the heady fragrance of her perfume as he had leaned in, closer and closer; the softness of her lips and the taste of her mouth. It had been the defining moment in his life. It had been like that line from that movie. "You make me want to be a better person." So he had tried. For her. Because of her.
Few people know the suffocating feeling that comes from existing for one person only, especially when that person doesn't reciprocate those same feelings. The feeling of insignificance after being ignored or dismissed, or the elation from a smile, or even the fluttering heart and spine tingles from a look of acknowledgment. It had been hard getting through each day knowing that one person held the power to make or break him. He had been pleased when a tentative friendship had formed. He had been given hope.
But hope didn't spring eternal. He had not been able to change so easily. He had been used to getting everything he wanted, when he wanted it. Instant gratification, thy name is Tristin Dugrey. He had never had to work for the attentions of a girl. He had never cared for a girl as much as he cared for her. He had longed to mean something, anything, to her, even if it was only the smallest measure of what he felt for her. He had begun to grow impatient, trying to push her into feeling something more for him than she could. He hadn't understood why she wasn't falling for him. Hadn't he dropped the attitude? Dropped the act?
PJ Harvey. The last ditch effort. The anti-climax. The event that should have been the big bang, the climactic turning point. Instead, it had been a pathetic whimpering death. To have come so far only to be left where he started, with nothing to show for it. After that terrible day, he had rebelled. Given up. Simple as that. A guy can only put up with so much. If he couldn't win her over being the "good guy," then what was the point of trying?
He had told himself that he was just dropping the facade, dropping the nice guy act. Deep down, he had known he was only building yet another wall around his soul. He had shrugged it off, truly believing he could care less. He had spent the summer drowning himself in shallow girls and even more shallow friends. He had fallen in with the wrong crowd. It had made him feel powerful, as if he was in control of his own actions. She had become a shadow, something he could dismiss from his mind as easily as she had dismissed him from her life.
His reckless attitude had carried over into the new school year. Tristin Dugrey, the golden boy of Chilton, had been suspended so many times he had actually been threatened by his parents. Ha! As if they had really cared anyway. He felt different. As if he hadn't a care in the world. He could do whatever he wanted, because frankly, he could have cared less. Not even a blip on the radar. He had fooled himself into believing that she held no power over him, that he was no longer a slave to the blinding passion with which he had been so consumed.
He had asked to be put in her group. Not because of the ex-girlfriends. Not even to try to win her over. But to prove to himself, once and for all, that she meant nothing. It had been a challenge. And Tristin Dugrey had never been one to back down from a challenge.
He remembers strolling into the classroom. The look of utter shock directed at him from those expressive, deep blue eyes had been forever seared into his memory. Even the daggers that Paris had been shooting at him through her biting insults and sarcasm were nothing compared to the way that familiar blue gaze had pierced his heart, opening old wounds. He hadn't been able to resist plopping down next to her, unconsciously reminding her of his presence. As if to say he still existed without her, didn't need her at all, in fact.
So why had he ached to take her into his arms? To beg her to release him from his self imposed prison? He had seen her since the new school year started. But only from a distance, when he had been certain that she was absorbed in her own world. As soon as he had been up close to her, when he had become conscious of the fact that she was beautiful and real and sitting right next to him, the waves of longing and resignation had dragged him back out to sea. He had been drowning in his own inability to be someone she could love.
He had longed to connect with her, to make her see him. Being around her had reminded him of what he lacked inside. She is the one who could have reformed him, but she is also the one who had driven him to self destruction. She had been the center of his universe, his everything.
But she had no use for him. She had it all: the fairy tale first love, the warm family, the charmed existence. He had been complicated and raw and he hadn't fit into her pastel world of clouds and bluebirds. He never could. She had been content with the daydream. She hadn't wanted the reality. She hadn't wanted to open herself up to the possibility that things could be different, better. In his moments of weakness, he had wished he could be someone else. It didn't matter who. Anyone. Someone worthy of her love.
He had hidden behind his mask of uncaring and indifference. He hadn't given her any reason to care about him, to regard him with anything more than dislike and hostility. But she had still broken through the surface, delving into his scarred emotions. It had always been intrinsic in her genuinely caring nature. It had scared him that she could so easily strip him of his defenses and get to the heart of the matter. But she hadn't realized that she had that gift and had never dug deeply enough.
Saying good bye to her had almost broken him. He hadn't been able to leave without bidding her farewell. After all, she had been the one who had driven him to every single action he had committed since he met her. He had torn off the mask and bared his soul to her. Why not? He had nothing left to lose. It had warmed his heart to see her flustered, trying to think of a way to make everything better. But it had been too late. Even she couldn't have saved him then.
He remembers how his heart had lurched when he had realized that it was really good bye. She had no idea. She hadn't even begun to comprehend the effects she had on him. She would never understand. As intelligent as she is, she is naive. She hadn't believed herself to be capable of changing one person so completely. She had shown him love, though he had never been able to touch it himself.
He would have given anything for one last kiss. One more affirmation of the emotions that still surged through his veins as strong as ever. One last chance at redemption.
But he wouldn't do that to her. She doesn't deserve to bear his weaknesses and insecurities on her soul. She should remain pure, clean from his filthy past. He hadn't wanted her last memory of him to be one of disgust. In that last conversation, they had connected. His heart had flip flopped in his chest as he stared at her, memorizing her face, knowing that she would never belong to him.
He swallows the rage rising up from within him, suppressing the urge to yell that it isn't fair. That he needs her. That he will die without her. How fitting that she was Juliet to his Romeo. He can feel his love for her poisoning his soul, drenching it in his heartache. With a deep breath, he buries that part of him. Who is he kidding? Spoiled rich boys love money. Nothing else. Never anything else. In his mind, he kisses her good bye, weeks too late. The last few tethers to deeper emotion and human understanding loosen. The mask is firmly back in place. His true face will not be revealed again.