The Art of Duplication: Part Five
Rating: PG
Summary: All along something inside her has been missing, but the question isn't whether or not he can find it.
***
FIVE;
pretending the world is your oyster
He tells her that she's one in a million, sometimes, often during a commercial break and after she fetches him a beer or peanuts or something else equally stereotyped "man."
He says it in a way that tells her he means it, and if she were to stop and contemplate she would think that it completely contradicted everything else about him.
But she doesn't stop to think.
She doesn't even hear him.
The referee, on screen, calls a foul.
It isn't, like many other things, marked on her calender because she bought the cheapest one in stock with dates alone. They don't go to many very public places that build up the hype. The TV and radio in her house haven't been on in almost a week, but she can hear carols by candlelight clearly as if she were singing it herself. He didn't ask her to go with him to his great aunt's Christmas dinner, but it's still there in the back of her mind.
It taunts her.
She's not sure what exactly it is about it. She always dreads and anticipates it, December 31 and January 1, the beginning and the end.
She's not sure which is which.
Reaching for another red crayon, she continues to color in another candy cane. It's the only splash of color in her otherwise pale surroundings, everything just as drawn and white as her own skin.
He comes over to pick her up on New Year's Eve, and she's unusually tense and skitterish when he touches her, or moves towards her.
As he pins a corsage to her dress, she thinks that it's unbelievably high school, and unbelievable that they left high school behind years ago. She feels older and worldly now, and lost.
There's food and drinks at the party, and lights. Lots of lights, flashing like a camera, reminding them of a moment that will forever be burned into their minds. She flinches every time it flashes, and it's never been more painfully obvious to her that she doesn't belong and probably never will.
The night comes to a close; the crowd cheers and there are streamers everywhere. Light beams are thrown around, blinding her eyes as his lips graze against her cheek. She breathes a relieved sigh, or resigned, and thinks that's it's all over now.
***
to be continued...
Summary: All along something inside her has been missing, but the question isn't whether or not he can find it.
***
FIVE;
pretending the world is your oyster
He tells her that she's one in a million, sometimes, often during a commercial break and after she fetches him a beer or peanuts or something else equally stereotyped "man."
He says it in a way that tells her he means it, and if she were to stop and contemplate she would think that it completely contradicted everything else about him.
But she doesn't stop to think.
She doesn't even hear him.
The referee, on screen, calls a foul.
It isn't, like many other things, marked on her calender because she bought the cheapest one in stock with dates alone. They don't go to many very public places that build up the hype. The TV and radio in her house haven't been on in almost a week, but she can hear carols by candlelight clearly as if she were singing it herself. He didn't ask her to go with him to his great aunt's Christmas dinner, but it's still there in the back of her mind.
It taunts her.
She's not sure what exactly it is about it. She always dreads and anticipates it, December 31 and January 1, the beginning and the end.
She's not sure which is which.
Reaching for another red crayon, she continues to color in another candy cane. It's the only splash of color in her otherwise pale surroundings, everything just as drawn and white as her own skin.
He comes over to pick her up on New Year's Eve, and she's unusually tense and skitterish when he touches her, or moves towards her.
As he pins a corsage to her dress, she thinks that it's unbelievably high school, and unbelievable that they left high school behind years ago. She feels older and worldly now, and lost.
There's food and drinks at the party, and lights. Lots of lights, flashing like a camera, reminding them of a moment that will forever be burned into their minds. She flinches every time it flashes, and it's never been more painfully obvious to her that she doesn't belong and probably never will.
The night comes to a close; the crowd cheers and there are streamers everywhere. Light beams are thrown around, blinding her eyes as his lips graze against her cheek. She breathes a relieved sigh, or resigned, and thinks that's it's all over now.
***
to be continued...