Disclaimer: All characters, settings and objects in this story belong to Disney Channel.
Author's Note: If you don't like smut, stop reading now. This first section is kind of mopey, but it cheers up as it goes. Also, fyi: the POV changes with almost every chapter break. It should be pretty self explanatory who's speaking at any given point in time.
SOMETHING IN HIS EYES
by Frankie
for Pheely Lovers Everywhere
-1-
He had just said goodbye. Goodbye forever, and I wasn't sad. I didn't tell him that I loved him. Something in his eyes said he already knew. The way he walked away it didn't feel like he was really leaving. It felt like he had told me he was going on a day trip and I'd see him tomorrow. It felt like he'd come just to make sure I knew he cared, as though if he left me for even a moment without telling me I'd change my mind. I might've changed my mind, if he hadn't come back. Not that day and not the next but eventually, I would've grown up and thought to myself that he didn't really care for me like I did for him. I would've thought that it was just a dream and the dream was over. Something in that memory of just those few moments told me it wasn't just a dream, and it wasn't just one of those things. He was the one, and that was all that mattered. And as long as I knew it, as long as he knew it, one day we would be together again, because true love concurs all. Suddenly 100 years didn't matter. Suddenly nothing mattered. There was no sadness in me.
The sadness didn't come for several days, and when it came it lasted months.
I cried at night for a long time. I couldn't think of anything but him. On a good day I would walk through the halls with a smile, knowing he was mine, even if he wasn't with me. On a bad day nothing would go right. As time went by less and less days were good days, and then school was over.
Summer was miserable. Outside of school I wasn't reminded of the good times so much. A young family bought their house and redid the whole front lawn. It was like they had never even been there.
-2-
I remember one night in the middle of July I sat alone in my bedroom. It was hot and dry and it felt as though I had nothing to do but watch the years pass by. I'd used up all my fantasies of Phil returning and they were beginning to grow stale in my mouth. I kept a picture of him on my dresser. I liked to think he could see me from the picture frame, and that perpetual smile was there just to cheer me on.
At nights I would undress in front of it, for giggles more than anything else. I would imagine him watching as I touched myself.
This night there was no laughter in my heart. He wasn't watching me. He was an unfathomable distance from me and he'd never watch me.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, my lazy gaze resting on his picture frame. Cruel world. How could he smile when I felt so horrible inside?
Why don't I feel the same? Something must be wrong with me.
I bullied myself into it. I thought... I must've thought that if I still loved him... I wouldn't need him to be here to feel it.
I stood and walked to my dresser, picking up his picture, then laid down on my bed. I tried to imagine that it was his hands that undid the zipper on my pants, and that it was his fingers that moved gracefully down to the place where my lips met. I pressed two fingers deep inside and then gently spread the warm sweet over the soft folds. I let my fingers find the little bump that was my clitoris, and rubbed slowly, rhythmically, watching his eyes and nothing else. He was smiling.
I could feel my breath grow shorter and my body grow warmer. My fingers moved swift against my skin, picking up speed with each stroke. Harder and harder, skin against skin, and then suddenly I felt nothing. No orgasm was coming to warm me. I was alone, and he was smiling, mocking me.
I threw the picture frame across the room, and rolled onto my stomach screaming into the pillow. The sound of it shattering against the wall was far less satisfying than I would've liked for it to be.
I sat up, tears rolling down my face and tried to catch my breath. After a very long moment hugging my pillow to my chest my eye turned to rest on the frame that sat in a pile of broken glass beside the wall. I stood and very slowly walked across the room, picking up the frame with tentative fingers. I plucked the last remaining shard of glass away and slipped the picture out of the frame.
He was smiling. His eyes said he understood.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, knowing that no one could hear.
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