Her Hopes
She just needs a reminder and it'll all be better. Everything will go back to the way it was. The way it was meant to be.
Once she realized it, everything changed.
She told herself to contain it.
She told herself that no matter what happens, contain it.
It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.
She spent her nights pacing back and forth in her room, panicked and frantic.
It doesn't exist. It doesn't exist. It doesn't exist.
It's not happening. It's not happening. It's not happening.
There were days when she would go to the open rooftop, unable to bear the suffocation in her room. She would feel the cold breeze against her skin and her tensions would immediately relax. Her smile would widen and her eyes would shine as she looked up. The stars would shine so brightly amongst the vast darkness, as if each and every one of them was the light at the end of the tunnel.
As if each and every one of them represented all the endings possible.
All of the choices made, and all of the choices denied.
She would look up to the sky and it gave her hope.
Hope that, maybe one day, he would feel the same. That it was possible for him to see the sun and think of her. That he would spend his nights thinking about her, fantasizing about her, dreaming about her. That every time he looked at her, it would be like she was the only one who mattered. He would look at her the way she looked at him.
She hoped that her best friend would accept that she gained feelings for him. She would tell her and she would respond with her usual, comforting smile. The brunette would tell her that it was alright, that their story was over (because, of course, she would reveal her secret after they broke up), and that she deserves to be happy. The brunette would hug her and soothe her.
Then she would realize that it wasn't possible.
She would look at her own tiny little hands and realize how hope is for suckers and how weak she was. She didn't have the confidence to tell Riley that she fell for Lucas. She didn't have the confidence to work towards her own happy ending and she hated it.
She hated liking her best friend's boyfriend.
She hated ending every day with thoughts of him.
She hated how he made her heart beat so quickly, her stomach clench, her mind wander to their beautiful, one-of-a-kind, beach wedding with the salty breeze floating her beautiful golden hair, his green orbs looking at her and only her, promising their eternal love for one another.
She didn't have the endurance to love someone only for her heart to break. She didn't want him to become something more only for him to walk away from her. She wasn't going to allow him to be her everything only for him to eventually become a stranger in mere seconds.
She shouldn't want to take the risks, but she wants to.
She wants to open her heart to him, to allow him to see her cry in her most vulnerable and insecure state. She wants to feel his arms around her, filling her with his warmth and his scent. She wants to smile in response to his warm smile, his cute dorkiness, his contagious laugh. She wants to accept the fact that he makes her so happy, so ecstatic, so...complete.
She wants so much from him and she wants to do so much with him and she wants to be able to give him what he deserves.
She wants to wake up on a Sunday morning and see his sleeping face. Her fingertips tracing his every feature: his curled eyelashes, his soft lips, his smooth cheeks. She would feel air coming out of his nostrils, reminding her that he was alive, that he was living, that he exists. Her giggles and her touch would wake him up and his beautiful, life-filled eyes would look at her and his smile would just widen at the sight of her. His adorable giggles would intertwine with hers and their bedroom would be filled with their joy and bliss.
She wants to feel his warmth behind her whenever she's painting. They would look at her creation and she would ask him for his opinion and he would point out every detail and every single part he liked. He would point out the parts that he didn't like and always tried to tell it in between kisses. She would giggle and turn around, gazing into his emerald eyes and they would start swaying and smiling and loving until she interrupts the mood by painting blue straight down in the middle of his face. He would stop movement in shock for a second until he laughs and stare into her blue eyes cunningly and mischievously. She would widen her eyes and try to release herself from his grasp but he would hold her tighter and planted his blue-colored lips on hers. He would look at her and simply laugh at the smudges of blue across her face. She would glare at him until he shuts up and releases her, only to dip his hand into the cup of purple paint and just lather it all over her and continue laughing with his shit-eating grin. She laughs and dumps the paintbrush into the green paint and brushes it all over him, noticing how similar the color of his eyes were to the paint. His handprints of so many different colors, eventually turning more and more distorted and grayish black with every print, would be sprayed across her clothes and her face and her hair. Whips of every color and specks of gray would be sprinkled across his shirts and pants and he would tell her he regrets not wearing an apron before hugging her.
She smiled at the thought of his arms around her, being enveloped in his scent, feeling every part of him against her, his warmth against hers, being on her tip-toes until he chuckles (and how she loved hearing him laugh) and picks her up, noting that she really was his short stack of pancakes. She would roll her eyes and criticize his nicknaming skills before calling him a sundance.
She loves the nickname regardless.
She wants to be able to touch every part of him, to listen to his stories - no matter how trivial - to tell him fragments of her life, no matter how vulnerable it would make her.
He was already everything she wanted, yet the one thing she wouldn't allow herself to get.
The blonde female would wipe her cheek, feeling the dampness of her sleeve. They would never stop, and the silent night was disrupted with her soft moans and sniffles. Her hands would clasp her mouth to prevent any sound to come out. Her eyes would look at the cement floor, reminding her that, no matter how many endings may exist, she wouldn't let herself hurt Riley.
Not like this.
Riley will never know.
No matter how many days may end in tears, no matter how many times she would feel her gut ripping apart, no matter how many times he would just bring a smile to her face without trying.
Riley will never know.
She will never know that just by talking to Lucas, by bickering with him, calling him names and him retorting, she feels like there's nothing wrong with her life. That family life that could have been better, is better - would be better if he was in it.
She will never know about the imaginary days that shimmered with golden lights and romance and all that sappy stuff she was never able to watch. Thoughts of him would just fill her mind and there were so many days when she just wished that she would never wake up from her dreams. Those four little children - one being named Riley, of course - running around as the two would chase them around would never be spoken of. The loud barking of their huge, gigantic dog would never be heard. Lucas and Maya Friar's home would never exist outside of her imagination.
More tears would come pouring and her ability to breathe become harder and harder. Her moans would become a little bit louder and louder and louder by every second. She would end up on the floor, her hands no longer covering her mouth, but rather her legs. Her throat would have this horrendous little lump which made breathing seem impossible. The weight on her heart would continue sinking down onto her and the world would become a distorted blur. Her sleeves become damp and wet and useless against the relentless attack of her tears. She would start wishing that it would rain so that it could cover up her tears, so that it was easier for her to hide behind a mask.
Riley can never know.
Farkle can never know.
Lucas can never know.
Every time she sees the perfect couple, she has to smile. She has to cheer them on. She has to support them and make sure that they get the ending they deserved.
She couldn't get in the way of that.
Every kiss she sees, every "I love you" she hears, every single finger of Riley's intertwined with Lucas's in the most perfect way possible couldn't affect her in any visible way.
Every single pang in the heart, every time she sees her imaginary world shattering, every time it seems like one of those gleaming stars went out, had to be hidden.
Every night would start with her pacing about in her room, then she would go to the rooftop, then she would hope.
Then she would realize something so crucial:
Hope is for suckers.
You hope for things, you get disappointed.
And it sucks getting disappointed every single day.