A/N: Wow…it's been awhile. I'm so sorry. I've missed you all terribly and even though I don't have up the next book to OHHH, I did write a little drabble last night since I really felt like writing. Now, I'm trying something new here with the writing…if you hate this, I'm super sorry.
I promise to get better stuff up soon, but life is kicking my butt at the moment.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything nor the song that this is loosely based off of… "Girl Crush"
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Crushed By You
...
April 19, 2015 ... 2:24pm
Sometimes it hurts really bad, as if I was run over by a truck. Sometimes the pain comes in embarrassment after I say something completely stupid and suffer the consequences of the ensuring awkwardness. Sometimes it's just plain nauseousness. And sometimes, on those precious and special occasions, I don't feel anything at all. I think he's finally burned me so bad I'm numb.
I love him so much…I hate him.
Loving him is equivalent to getting your heart ripped out by wolves while you're still thrashing about, fighting to survive and as your limbs rest between the wolf's teeth. It feels like bleeding out on some distant road while your flesh is decaying from the heat of the sun and the vultures are already beginning to pick at your dead flesh—all as you do nothing but watch.
But he isn't the cause of my pain. It's not his fault that loving him hurts so goddamn much, it's not his fault that it feels like a slap in the face every time he talks to me, it's not his fault my insides blaze like they're engulfed in hydrochloric acid. No, it's not his fault at all.
It's hers.
I'm staring at them. Laughing, talking, joking. A gentle push here, a bump in the shoulder. Oh no, taste the food off my fork while I feed it to you, it's much more romantic this way. God, they're sickening. I hate them. It's their blasted fault they look like they're some cookie-cutter couple from a rom-com film. With her perfect body and her long blonde hair and those blue eyes. With his adorable copper colored hair and his heart melting eyes of liquid gold. If he was mine, we'd look much cuter together. He'd smile to me with that dopey, stupid freckled grin that he always has and I'd push him in the shoulder to wipe that adorable smirk off his face. And when he'd flash those gorgeous brown eyes at me and that stupid smirk would still be there, well, then I'd have to kiss it away. He'd like that. I know he would.
See, I can be cute like her. I can do what she does. I can give you what she does. I can be her.
You don't need her…
She's sitting there with you now. I feel like time slows when I look at her—they way she flips her luscious blonde hair over her shoulder and the way she bats her big blue eyes. She's beautiful. Sensational. Elegant. Poised. Happy. Interesting.
And me? I'm…well, I'm not.
The pain…it all comes from her. She's the crush…she's why my heart races, she's why my body goes numb after every blow, she's the only reason why everything hurts so damn bad.
I want her—I want everything she has, everything she is.
I want to be her smile, I want to be her laugh. I want to be the one that makes your eyes crinkle when you grin in that adorable way. I want to be the reason your cheeks hurt and your eyes tear from laughing too hard. I want to taste her lips just because they taste of you. I want to drown myself in all of her perfume. I want her magic touch that captures you under her spell. I want to dress like her—in beautiful sundresses and colorful scarves. I want to tie up my long blonde hair with a bright ribbon. I want her soft blue eyes and her rosy cheeks. I want her perfect white teeth and her size two body. I want her height when she stands in flats just so I can see your eyes clearer. I want her perfect little life with her perfect little family. I want it all.
I want to be her.
I want to be Cosette.
Because maybe…maybe if I had all she does, just maybe then, you'd want me just as much.
At night, I lay awake thinking about you and her. I can't find sleep, I can't find peace when I think about her between your bed sheets—with your arms wrapped around her elegant frame, with her body pressed against yours, with your nose in her hair and your taste on her lips. The way you whisper to her and the way she giggles quietly, the way she smiles and squeals when you hold her sides, the way she pulls you in with each breath she takes—how you'll drown in her before you can even find a way out.
God knows how much I've tried, how much I've prayed to make the thoughts stop, but I can't get her off my mind, I can't stop wishing it was me.
I've got a girl crush.
And I've got it bad.
...
"What are you writing?"
She jumps back with the speed of light, startled, slamming her journal shut. Darkened eyes snap up to the tall and brooding mop of curls standing behind her. "Excuse me?" she asks tersely.
"Sorry, I was just curious," he says, averting his light blue eyes from her piercing brown ones. "Your head's been bent over that thing for the past five minutes, you didn't even notice I was standing here."
She looks mortified. "Where you reading over my shoulder?"
"No," he states with a shrug and a smug little look on his face.
Her face twists in disgust. She stares him down, finally taking the stranger in completely. He's standing in a plain black v-neck and jeans, the dirty blonde curls matching his perfectly crisp white skin. His arms are crossed over the broadest and most muscular chest she's ever seen on a man in this little café bookstore before.
"Then is there something I can help you with?" she asks, following up his self-satisfied stare.
He uncrosses his arms and nods to the couple sitting across the café. "You know Marius and Cosette?"
Her eyes narrow.
"You were staring at them," he explains.
She huffs, blowing a piece of her dark chestnut hair out of her eyes. "I was not."
"Could'a fooled me."
An impatient sigh escapes her lips and she presses her palm flat against her notebook, suppressing the urge to storm away from her seat. "Did you really come here to bother me about Marius and Cosette?" Her voice is cold, unforgiving.
"No," he coughs slightly, heat flooding down his spine at the tone of her voice. "I forgot my jacket." Gesturing with his hand, he points to a red hoodie across the back of the decrepit wooden seat next to her.
"Oh…" she frowns. Her demeanor softens, her exterior quieting down in the subtle movements of her face. She twists her body to grab it from the chair and hand it to him, the familiar feeling of embarrassment making itself prominent on her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," he says, taking the hoodie from her and draping it over a sculpted arm. "I'm Enjolras," he continues as he takes a little step back. "I'm one of Marius' friends. You come here a lot, don't you?"
She shrugs. "Wouldn't say a lot, just…enough." There's a pause as her eyes take one more quick glance to the happy couple across the way, now holding their palms up to each other measuring their hands. "I'm Éponine," she says quietly.
He nods respectfully. "Well, thank you, Éponine…for my jacket. Sorry again."
She gives a small smile, meticulously rubbing the spine of her notebook with the pad of her thumb. Her eyes fall down to the journal. "It's fine," she mutters.
He takes another step back, about to leave when he steals a glance at the now giggling couple and pauses. He looks back down to the brown haired girl before him and offers a friendly little grin, one not forced, one not sympathetic, but a genuine smile, as if he can't help it in that tiny glimpse at her. "For the record, Éponine," he says, causing her to lift her eyes up and causing his stomach to flip. "Marius is an idiot..." he smirks, giving one more long look at her, right into her glassy brown eyes. "...and I think you're a lot more interesting than Cosette."
Saying no more, he memorizes one more second of her and walks away, the bells above the door jingling on his way out of the café.
She sits there, quietly, without any movement. Her cheeks are flushed a deep red even long after his presence is gone. It takes a whole two minutes before her brain rewires and it begins functioning once again. Suddenly, she can't hear the couple's laughter anymore, she can't hear their giggles and their kisses. She can't see them sharing a drink or holding hands. She can't see his freckled face or her long blonde hair. All she sees is the fleeting image of Enjolras left behind with only the memory of his words.
Quickly, she opens her notebook to the next blank page and writes:
...
April 19, 2015 ... 3:02pm
With time all crushes fade and with time new ones appear. Eventually I'll learn how to jump out of the way before I get crushed by you...but then again, perhaps this time I won't mind so much.
Maybe this time, I'll want to.
A/N: And happy 183rd Barricade Day. Let us all remember Les Amis and the young girl who died saving her love.