[A/N: hey everyone…this is my first attempt to write anything resembling
fanfiction, but it's more like the character's P.O.V.'s on the situtation,
not an actual story. Please keep that in mind, but I love constructive
criticism…it will only make my writing better, so be mean, and tell me what
I need to improve on! Thanks and enjoy!]
Tristan's P.O.V. - Rory finally decided to ignore Tristan for good.
She had hurt me again.
Of course it wasn't the first time.
I loved her, and she wouldn't even speak to me. Not before, not now, not ever.
Not really anyhow.
Not since that night.
That was the first and last time that she actually seemed to care. Probably because it was the first time that I had really shown her that I was vulnerable. Shown anyone for that matter.
I exposed myself to her.
I had never done that for anyone. Somehow whenever she was around, I yearned to drop the false façade that I had spent so long perfecting. Yearned to be a better person, to care for her, to comfort her, to love her.
Not that I ever let her know this.
No, of course not.
Like an idiot I kept shutting her off to the person that I really am. Instead, fronting as an egotistical womanizer who viewed her as an accomplishment.
A prize.
They say that women aren't prizes. They're wrong. She is.
I would give anything to have her, to touch her silky brown hair, her porcelain skin, to get lost in her eyes.
But I can never have her.
She would never want me.
As much as it kills me to admit it, I have been defeated. Not only defeated, but wounded.
Scathed. Scarred.
But I wouldn't take it back for anything.
I enjoyed every second of contact that we exchanged. Every electric spark that emitted from her skin being on mine. Every second when we conversed with heated banter. The flirty arguments, her witty retorts. Her quirks and caffeine guzzling. All of it amazed me.
Captivated me. Entranced me.
But hurt me.
Hurt me because I knew that she could never love me like I love her.
Hell, she couldn't even stand to be in the same room as me.
And it hurt me to the very core.
Tristan's P.O.V. - Rory finally decided to ignore Tristan for good.
She had hurt me again.
Of course it wasn't the first time.
I loved her, and she wouldn't even speak to me. Not before, not now, not ever.
Not really anyhow.
Not since that night.
That was the first and last time that she actually seemed to care. Probably because it was the first time that I had really shown her that I was vulnerable. Shown anyone for that matter.
I exposed myself to her.
I had never done that for anyone. Somehow whenever she was around, I yearned to drop the false façade that I had spent so long perfecting. Yearned to be a better person, to care for her, to comfort her, to love her.
Not that I ever let her know this.
No, of course not.
Like an idiot I kept shutting her off to the person that I really am. Instead, fronting as an egotistical womanizer who viewed her as an accomplishment.
A prize.
They say that women aren't prizes. They're wrong. She is.
I would give anything to have her, to touch her silky brown hair, her porcelain skin, to get lost in her eyes.
But I can never have her.
She would never want me.
As much as it kills me to admit it, I have been defeated. Not only defeated, but wounded.
Scathed. Scarred.
But I wouldn't take it back for anything.
I enjoyed every second of contact that we exchanged. Every electric spark that emitted from her skin being on mine. Every second when we conversed with heated banter. The flirty arguments, her witty retorts. Her quirks and caffeine guzzling. All of it amazed me.
Captivated me. Entranced me.
But hurt me.
Hurt me because I knew that she could never love me like I love her.
Hell, she couldn't even stand to be in the same room as me.
And it hurt me to the very core.