You had always hated something about that guy.
Maybe it was his looks. A simple boyish charm coupled with pretty boy face that could only be achieved by not wanting it.
Maybe it was his attitude. Always so composed and untouchable, like he was in a world all his own that no one else could ever see.
Maybe it was his eyes. Not so much the admittedly feminine eyelashes, but the deep, swirling detachment that simmered beneath them.
What it absolutely was not however, was the way he so effortlessly gathered people's brittle attentions, only to crush them underfoot, crumbling like leaves in his wake.
Just like your older brother. Just like your younger sister. Just like—
But that wasn't it.
Not at all.
You just couldn't understand it was all.
You liked reading too, but you couldn't make up a good story to save your life. You couldn't bring someone to their knees with words alone or pinpoint just the hairline fracture in people's facades to shatter their composure so perfectly.
It was really selfish actually, the way he wouldn't even look you in the eye when he'd do it. Like somehow, the world you lived in just wasn't good enough for him and his pretty words.
Speaking of unobservant, you look at the shirt that had made its way into your hands amid your musings, and wonder how you hadn't noticed yourself picking it up, in all its neon green, leopard printed glory.
It's kind of charming, in a gaudy, eyesore sort of way.
You also wonder how you hadn't noticed the utterly dumb-stuck, vaguely appalled look your mother has been giving you.
With a reassuring smile in her direction, you place it back on the rack.
She seems relieved and turns back to browsing.
You then proceed to pick up one in your size, looking between her and the shirt.
You buy it.
