Better Hallway Vision
by UnicornPammy
A/N: Blurble.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all relating to The Breakfast Club.
Chapter 3: The Lonely
Allison rinses the last of the soap from her face. She looks in the mirror. She's never thought, before, about the interesting contrast created by her pale skin and dark eyes. With her hair still tied back from Claire's makeover, she really sees her face. As a whole, not just an unhappy mouth and half-hidden eyes. She's almost mesmerized by what she sees. Is there really beauty there? Beauty. The word itself is not beautiful, is not one that conjures up happy thoughts for her. It makes her think of striving for something she can never achieve.
She wonders if she can go to school like this on Monday. She wonders if anyone would notice, or care.
She is afraid, afraid of Monday. She wants to see Andy, to see her friends. But she is afraid that they will not see her, anymore, just like before. Ironic, since she has worked very hard to become invisible.
She reaches for a towel to dry her face. Claire's moisturizer is in a small glass bottle with delicate lettering. "A girl's best friend," she had said. Allison uses it, remembering Claire's words: "Just use a little bit at a time. You don't have to put it all over your face. After you use your cleanser, scrunch up your face, and wherever your skin feels tight, that's where you put the moisturizer. That helps it last a lot longer, and keeps it from clogging up your pores."
Allison applies the moisturizer like Claire instructed.
She pulls the scarf out of her hair, and the messy weight of it falls over her face. So this is what silk feels like. Allison slides the slippery fabric through her hands. It's like water woven into cloth, pliant and draping. She caresses her cheek and her lips with it, loving the sensation of it against her skin.
With regret, she knows she has to give it back. She sighs, thinking of all the things she has pilfered. But this took no skill, it was given to her.
She turns off the bathroom light and crosses the hall into her bedroom. She stands by her bed for a few moments, thinking. She turns around and lets herself fall backward onto it. She lies there, spread-eagled, still thinking.
Why had Andy kissed her? Was he just messing with her head? It's plausible, she thinks. And barbaric. Kind of like taping somebody's ass-cheeks together. It is so Andy, and yet, not Andy. Not the Andy he revealed to her today. Not the Andy who wouldn't rest until he'd pried out of her what was wrong, what has hurting.
Fuck this, she thinks suddenly.
It makes her sad and scared to think about it. And angry, too. What is so wrong with her? What is wrong with being different? She knows she is awkward, and strange, and she likes being that way. Usually she has a "screw anyone who can't handle it" attitude, but it seems like lately that means screw everyone because nobody will talk to her. She's tired of being alone, of being so freaking lonely. It was nice to be able to talk to people, and to have them listen. And also to listen to other people interacting and know that she could participate in the interaction if she wanted to, instead of just observing as she has always done.
She rolls over with a sigh and grabs her sketch pad off the nightstand. Intending to draw a group portrait, she starts with Andy. Somehow, she can't get past him. She draws his face a dozen times, his different expressions and emotions. She starts with his mask. That's what she calls the face he wore when he first walked in, the face that doesn't care about anything. It's the face he shows to his friends and his dad, probably, and his coach. Maybe even the face he shows to himself most of the time.
But from the moment he started opening up to her in the hallway, that face started to melt away. The mask crumbled, moment by moment, to reveal the real Andy underneath. He is different than what everyone thinks of him. He isn't just an athlete, just a "racehorse," as he put it. He is a real person. Even if no one else sees it, Allison does. And she likes what she sees. She can still feel the strength of his arms as he held her, and she pulls the sketchbook into her chest, hugging it. She wants to feel that again. Wants it so bad that it is a physical ache in her stomach. If he doesn't, if he won't, she doesn't know what she will do, how she can continue to live.
She feels as if she had been sleeping, and Andy breathed life into her, only to take her breath away again with a kiss. She finds she likes being alive, and she wants more. More breaths, and more kisses to take her breath away. It is only natural.