So I liked the other one better, but my opinion isn't the one that matters, so tell me what y o u think!
She knows it's unhealthy.
She knows that he's using her and that he doesn't love her and in the end, it's her heart that's going to be broken. Because come on, she's the other woman and everybody knows how that turns out. She's the whore, the slut, the obstacle. In the end she'll be a footnote in the story of their epic love. She knows that nobody ever roots for the girl in hot pink stilettos and glitter eye shadow.
She knows that he's just being selfish and that the pretty whispers in her ears are just lies to feed her disillusion that she stands a chance. She knows that fate doesn't want them together and that their names aren't written in the stars and she knows, she knows that this isn't anything like her fairy tales that she needs so desperately to believe in. Or maybe it is but she isn't the princess.
And she knows what others whisper. Slut. Selfish. Naïve. But she runs back to his arms every time. Because it's her own little pretend world. One where she really is pretty, inside and out. One where she has her fame and the love and she can finally breath. In his arms she feels whole and unbroken and she's not the shattered doll that she's become.
And as soon as she untangles herself from the sheets that smell like mints, and Armani and him, she walks out the door and promises herself it's the last time. Because she hates that she's nothing more than a dirty little whore. She hates that she's just a stain on their sheets. And the spotlight is never on her and she's just another little toy. She shatters all over again.
But the next day he'll whisper her name in her ear like she's something special and she'll follow him like a lost little puppy.
Because she's always needed to be important.
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She knows that it's unhealthy.
She knows that he doesn't love her. Not like he claims to anyways. And she knows that he'll always need more, more, more then she can possibly give him. She knows that she's the girlfriend with the wandering boyfriend. She recognizes the strawberry lip gloss and the Juicy Couture perfume because it is her coworker after all. And she can see the guilt and shame in her eyes, and yeah she takes a little satisfaction in the way her eyes break every time she gets to kiss him in public while she's forced to watch.
She knows that his excuses for why he needs to go are just lies to see her. And she knows he'll never stop because that's not in his nature no matter how many pretty scenes and scripts she writes in her head. He'll never get farther than acting the perfect boyfriend. But she'll never leave him because in his arms she's finally somebody. She's finally whole and not just another broken soul in a sea of them.
She knows what they whisper. Stupid. Blind. Naïve. She can feel their pitying eyes watch her trip and fall over her own heart and if she wasn't broken before, they'll push her until she is. They feel sorry for her. They hate her for being weak. But it doesn't matter. Not anymore. Because they'll never confront her. After all, that'd be rude.
She thinks it's Hollywood that's killing her. Draining her soul away and leaving this empty shell that needs him for the paparazzi and the cold bitter nights. Wisconsin winters have nothing on these cold shameless people. She needs him to hold her hand through this and let her know it's going to be okay and that she really can do this. She needs him to hold her up under all this pressure so she'll look the other way when he finds his release.
He holds her hand through the storm and she knows she'll never leave him and she'll continue to follow him around like a little lost puppy.
Because she's always needed to be saved.