I looked down at myself in this stupid black cocktail dress. Did I think this would impress him? Or turn him on? Of course. I thought that. I thought it in my mind underneath my mind when I put it on this morning. For the wedding gig, that was my thought. Yeah, right. This just so totally sucked. Craig was making me so crazy I was lying to myself.
I didn't like myself like this. I didn't like being out of control of my emotions. This whole stupid summer we hung out, being so close to him everyday, memorizing all his little details. Did I think I was in love? He was showing no interest, no real interest. Craig was a flirt. I knew that. Flirting didn't mean anything with him, that was how he related to girls. But not me. I didn't flirt. Flirting was serious as cancer with me.
It was sick and it was stupid. Did I want to own him? I couldn't. Ashley owned him. Ashley dumped him in that e-mail but he was still in some kind of emotional tailspin with her. I was just some peripheral friend, someone to hang out with when there wasn't anyone better around. That summer, I'd breathed him in. The scent of his cologne and the scent of the laundry detergent on his clothes, the scent underneath those that was just him. I drank him in, every inch of him. It all went down my throat and into my stomach and intestines so smooth, his muddy hazel eyes and his pale skin and curly dark hair, the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. I saw with microscopic detail the way he held his guitar and the way he blinked when he talked to me and the way he put his tongue against his teeth. I could hear his voice like sandpaper on silk, just a rustling beneath my skin.
It wasn't reciprocated. I knew that. I felt it every time he pulled away. Every time I thought about kissing him and he looked uncomfortable. I knew where I stood and that was firmly on the sidelines of his life. So why was I at this stupid wedding gig in this ridiculous dress while he was watching Manny?
Maybe I was just in love with the brokenness of him. I mean, when he was just one of the popular kids and I was my true goth self I never even noticed him, except when he was breaking Ashley's heart. I didn't know about all the pain that lay behind that wide smile, the easy laughter and jokes. I didn't know of any of that secret dark stuff within him.
It all came out in group, boy. He still had that wide popular boy smile but now I could see the pain in his eyes. Maybe I fed on his fear and insecurity and low self esteem like some carnivore. I didn't know. Maybe I wanted someone whose pain could match my own. The pain of cutting , the pain of my mother falling down into her bottle, the pain of my father leaving over and over. Did I think Craig could be that for me? Some damaged soul mate?
I threw the drumsticks down in the kitchen of this hall, and they clattered to the ground. I hated this dress. I wanted to rip it off. I hated Manny. I wanted to scratch her eyes out. Maybe I even hated Craig, fooling me with his false attention, making me love him because he was manic, because his father beat him, because his mother died. For making me addicted to his pain as much as my own. I snapped the useless rubber band against my wrist when what I really wanted to do was slash into the knitted veins and arteries, the blue road map squiggles under my skin.
Craig. This dress hadn't done what it was supposed to do. I could see him giving Manny those secret smiles. I swallowed hard, blinked back tears. This was just so so stupid. If I cried my mascara would run black down my cheeks.
And now here he came, following after me like I mattered. He wasn't fooling me, not anymore. I walked and kept walking but he caught up to me.
"Ellie, wait," he said, and his voice, so achingly familiar. His eyes searching out mine in that way that made me feel…something. Made me feel twisted inside. Made me feel like I sucked on helium. But anger rose up to block those twisty helium feelings. It wasn't real, this dress didn't prove anything, he was choosing Manny. I was in the process of being overlooked.
"I don't dress like this," I said, accusing him. He made me dress this way. He made me want him and then he wouldn't let me have him.
"Thank you?" he said, and I wanted so badly to hit him, to hurt him like he was hurting me.
"Don't flatter yourself, it's not for you," Lies. I was reduced to this. It couldn't save me now. I wanted to tear this dress off and throw it to the ground.