Disclaimer: I own this poem. It is of my original work and I ask that you do not copy and use this as your own. I do not, on the other hand, own the mediator series. The series, characters and anything to do with the books, are all owned by Meg Cabot.
Behind A Lying Face
Sitting at my desk, supposedly finishing my homework, I thought about the past week. Nothing seemed to be going good at all lately. Jesse rarely came to visit me and Spike had eaten a hole through one of my favorite blouses. Hell, Jesse hadn't even come to me in over two weeks. Where was he? I had so much to tell him. So much to cry about.
I couldn't help but think about what he did to me. Paul, I mean. It was supposed to be an innocent lesson. One of gaining information and learning about my gift. Instead, he stirred the lust between us and convinced me of his love for me. I could not help myself. It was like something or someone has taken over my body and was using it for their own purpose and pleasure. And yet, it felt so good. Something came alive inside of me. Something I didn't even know I possessed. And as quickly as it had come alive, it had died. Paul changed the subject of love and lasting. Started talking about death and lust. Saying it was the lust the lured him to me. Said that I had my "cowboy" and I didn't need him. Told me he could have it better. He could have anyone. Why was he wasting his time on little old Susannah Simon?
I don't know what hurt me more. The knowledge that Paul had used me and manipulated me into sleeping with him under false pretences. Or, if it was what he said about him having better. Having anyone. That he didn't need me. He didn't see me in his life like that.
All of that after something so intimate. Something so strong. It hurt like hell. So bad, I wanted to curl into a ball and just cry my heart out. But, I knew better. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Yes, I had come straight home, in tears and cried for days straight. I neither ate nor slept.
I needed Jesse. Desperately, I had called out to him. Begging for him to come. Pleading for his help and comfort. But I didn't get anything. No thoughts, no shimmer, no nothing.
Maybe I was wrong about Paul hurting me the most. Maybe it was really the fact that Jesse never came to me. I was practically sobbing. And he didn't come.
Did he know? Did he know and not come because he was ashamed of me? How could he do that? How could he just stand by, knowing I was falling apart, calling to him desperately, needing him-his comfort. And still, he did not come. Did he find this all to be a joke? Why was it that he would feel this way?
I had cheated…
That was true. And all of a sudden I felt sick from the knowledge of such a thing. I had cheated on him in one of the worst ways. It wasn't like a just a date, or a kiss, or even some evenings together. Paul and I had had sex. I couldn't even name it the act of making love. There was no love between us. This was something I wanted to share with Jesse. Something I was supposed to. He was the one I loved. So wasn't he the one I was supposed to share my body and soul with? Not Paul out of lust.
Pulling out a piece of paper in a sudden rage, I clicked my pen ready to write. I wasn't known to write poetry. But I knew of people my age who did. Gina had often written poetry about her past boyfriends and thoughts of love. I figured, why not try it. Get out some my feelings in a safe, non-physical way.
Scribbling on the paper, I wrote the date and my name. And then I stopped. Paused, lost in thought. What was I going to write? Should I write about the act I shared with Paul? Missing Jesse and feeling horrible? No. I didn't want to write about Jesse that way. If this all changed, I didn't want that around for him to find and read. If I could, I would like to keep this unspoken for as long as I could muster the ability to.
I decided to write the title first. Thinking, on the subject of what happened with Paul, I thought of how I felt and how I am now. And then everything went. My mind. My thoughts. Everything transferred to the page. And in five minutes, I had written a poem.
Behind A Lying Face
I actually believed everything you said
And all of it brought me to your bed
You took my innocence and my pride
And just left me there when I fell down and cried.
8888888
How could you hurt me so much and make me feel more?
Even though I shouldn't let it, everything you did hit me to the core
You are so horrible I can't believe you exist
I wish I could take back the first time we ever kissed.
8888888
You have betrayed me in more than one way
And you still leave me speechless with nothing to say
Your lies and deceits have cut me deeper than my knife
And as sad as it sounds, both of you could take away my life.
8888888
I try to push you away, but it is just so hard
You have left me with a heart so black and deeply scarred
My life was a perfect story, like a novel with a perfect plot
After I met you, I was hit with everything you had and everything you brought.
8888888
If you think you could just do that to me, you are wrong
I may have been injured and hurt but I am very strong
I will overcome everything with which you hit me
And in the end, I will come out alright, just you wait and see.
My first actual poem and it was a masterpiece in my eyes. Even though it was about something horrible, I still found it amazing.
"Querida?" I heard from behind me.
I turned, finding Jesse sitting on the window seat, absently petting Spike on the head to keep him happy. The look on Jesses face worried me. He seemed to hold this knowledge of something that he wish he hadn't acquired. Something inside my stomach knotted up in fear.
"Yes, Jesse?" I asked, a lump forming in my throat, hard to swallow.
He swallowed himself, even though he did not need to. He looked uncomfortable, as if something were bothering him and he knew not how to address it. Looking over at Spike, he removed his hand from the feline and looked back to me, his gaze steady, focused on my face.
"Susannah, I know." My heart stopped as he stood and began pacing the room, softly cursing in Spanish.
"You know what, Jesse?" I turned around in my chair, trying to keep my breathing easy.
"I know about Slater."
My heart stopped cold.
(PP: I see this as a one-shot. But, I guess there could be more. Share with me what you think. I really would appreciate it. I hope you liked the story. Here is a poem I wrote a while ago. I was flipping through my poems and thought this kind of fit into the mediator things. And I guess I could wrap a story around it. Please review!)