This is for hbhs12 for coming first in my competition. Check them out, they're amazing and lovely and so nice. They own the plot to this story, I'm just writing it. So sorry it's late, I was ill‼ I don't own House of Anubis.
"I'll see you at Anubis, Kay?" I say to the red-headed girl standing before me. She smiles, but it barely crinkles the creamy skin around her eyes. I frown for just a fraction of a second, and then run my thumb across her cheekbone. A blush creeps over her skin. Patricia never blushes. A blush creeps over her skin. Patricia never blushes. Sasses, sarcastic-s and pours milk, yes, but blush? No. It just doesn't happen.
"You alright, Yacker?" I ask, leaning into kiss her gently. My hands clasp her waist and just for a minute she holds me tight, like she doesn't want to let go. I can feel small hands curl into the back of my shirt, and she buries her face in my chest. Then she lets go, ducking out of my grip and composing herself, smoothing down auburn hair that has frizzed up across her forehead. I want to make a comment about electricity between us, but she looks so depressed that I resist.
"Eddie…" he trails off, clenching her hand into fists so tightly that I see her knuckles go white. I reach out to clasp her hand in mine, but she flinches and jerks away. I have caught her in her moment of vulnerability and she wants to get away.
"Eddie I need to tell you something." The words come out in one breath, and her eyes harden, she fixes her stare on a sign for Duty Free above my head, takes a deep breath and begins again.
"Eddie… Ithinkweneedtoendthis." The words leave her mouth so quickly I can barely grasp what she is saying. I splutter a bit as I reply, brows furrowed, hands stiffly by my sides.
"What?" I squint, even though it is a four am plane and there is barely enough light to see with my eyes open wide. I study every inch of her pale, nervous face until I have her expression memorised; every contour, every freckle, every tiny little blemish. I already have her picture in my wallet – I could never forget her face. But I have a feeling I'm going to want to look back over this moment with a large container of Ben & Jerry's Oh My Apple Pie and a box-set of Law & Order whilst I lie on the sofa and throw shoes at my wall.
Totally not weird. I swear.
She doesn't look how I expected her to. If I caught her muffled, mumbled and far too quickly paced words right, she's breaking up with me. Is it wrong to want to see conflict on her face? Anger? Sadness? I just want a reaction.
Instead, her eyes are blank, her face emotionless and expressionless. I see no anger, no sadness, no conflict etched across her features.
She is the normal Patricia again, recovered from her brief moment of vulnerability. She is cold and harsh and sarcastic and hot and I love her.
"I think we need to end this." She states simply, her voice showing no signs of sadness. Just words, empty words that mean noting as they fall from her mouth. But they mean everything to me – they are the defining moment of my first actual relationship. The first girl I ever actually loved. Not, like, cheap make out session behind the bleachers for a pair of hormonal teenagers. Actually loved.
Loved.
Now all I see is anger. I want to scream and yell and punch a wall and just cry. But I won't. Because that is not how guys are stereotypically supposed to deal with anger. We punch things and release pent up emotions playing Call Of Duty. At least, Mick and Jerome and Alfie and Fabian do. I think.
No. I can't. I will talk it out quietly and respectfully and get a straight answer out of the girl who just broke my heart because I want to know why. What did I do wrong? I want to fix it, make everything okay again, and kiss her. Which I read on the internet is totally normal teen hormones, so I'm not too worried about my emotional confusion. At least, I don't think I am.
"You're… what? You're breaking up with me?" I must radiate hurt by now, because Patricia's steely glare at the Body Shop sign near the Terminal softens for a moment. Just a moment, but the moment stretches to infinity, infinity to eternity, and all I can do is shake my head and stare hard at her.
And Patricia is gathering up her suitcases and her Duty Free bags and walking away, and it takes everything in me not to run away and break down. Instead, I grab her arm, gently, softly, tugging her back to me. Spinning her around in the process, I look her directly in the eyes and she falters, the words her mouth was about to say choking in the back of her throat and al that comes out is a coughing noise.
Then she composes herself and looks up at me. I am eight inches taller than her, which has never been more significant than now.
"I'm sorry," Is all she says. Should I be happy? Or disappointed.
"Then why are you leaving me?" I ask, confused and hurt. So hurt I can barely breathe!
"It's… too fast. I can't do it. I can't make you happy. You'll find a prettier girl, a better girl," She stops there, turning to run away and board a plane back to England, away from me.
I let her. I release her arm and she runs, shaking her head and shoulders as she speeds past the boarding gate.
I let her go. I let the only girl I've ever loved run away from me.
I let her go.
