Author's Note: So my costume freaking RIPPED today but other than that (and two girls stealing my cookies), it's been a better day than yesterday. I wished I could say no school tomorrow, but I'm going to be there for eight hours so I might as well have frickin school (ugh).
Day Two-Hundred Twenty-Seven: Kind of Woman (Why Not Me) by Emma Wallace
My life was a play.
Or, at least, it felt like one. I sometimes felt like the heroine of my own noir film, all in black in white, while I wore my silken robe, brunette curls, and big pearls. My lips were a crimson red color…not that anyone could see, since my life was in black and white.
Although I felt this way, I was not the damsel in distress; boys did not pine after me. I wasn't "irresistible." A man was not willing to put his life on the line for the sake of me.
For a long time, I wanted to be one of those women: those women who made the room turn when she walked in and demanded attention; those women who had the pull to sway her peers in one direction or another, who could deter an idea with a haughty roll of the eye; those women who little girls got discouraged just looking at and made other women want to stuff themselves silly in humiliation; those women that made other girls feel plain; those women other women wanted to be.
I was on the opposite side; I was the woman who felt plain. I was the one who just wanted her to remember my name. I was the one who looked over and shook my head in despair when she passed by. If only I were that woman.
Frankly, a play on my life would be boring. The Life and Times of Plain Jane was not sure to be a blockbuster; it should be considered a great success if even ten tickets were sold to a show of such a title!
But Plain Jane had no exhilarating romance at the backbone of her life. Plain Jane was the kind of girl who guys would fool around with for the night, but Plain Jane didn't get picked.
I was fine with not being kept by a man. I didn't need one, anyway. But I was forgettable. I wanted to be immortal in the mind of a man. I wanted to be the kind of woman that men reminisced with wistful longing about. I wanted him to think, "Damn, I really fucked that up with her."
Unfortunately, I was not one of those women. I poured another glass of scotch for myself as I heard someone walk into the house. It wasn't the guy meant to come sweep me off my feet, who would become so enamored with me that he'd ignore all my wrongdoings and flaws, and would do all this only to have me break his heart in the end. It was just Toby.
Knowing he'd be interested in a drink, I poured him a glass of scotch as well.
"Isn't it early for you to be drinking?" he teased.
"Bite me," I responded bitterly as I took an equally bitter sip. "I'm lonely."
"You have me."
"But I don't want to kiss you. I don't want to sleep with you or tell you how much I love you," I responded before taking another drink. He remained silent, like he was thinking it over. "You're like a brother."
Ugh. Why wasn't I the kind of woman a man pined for so much that they could cry over her? Why wasn't I any of these women?
My life was a play, but it wasn't the kind I wanted to watch.
My God, Spencer was so beautiful and she didn't even know it.
I couldn't decide whether I found it endearing or annoying that she couldn't even appreciate how beautiful she was. She was better than all those other girls. Her stupid male peers were too dumb to appreciate her, though…
And it was clear she didn't look at me the same way. Why was I even trying? It was clear she saw me as one thing: a friend. She only saw me as a friend.
Sarah: I wasn't even attacking you. I'm not having this conversation right here and right now. And heh that may be true (not saying I'm a good actor, but I'm like 95% sure he would rather keel over than tell me I did something right right now).
Can you just imagine Spencer drinking scotch? Part of me thinks that's so hot. I don't know. Noir dreams.
Tomorrow's one-shot will be Prom Song (Gone Wrong!)/Teenage Wasteland by Lana Del Rey. It'll be the last Lana one-shot :,( -Kayson