Her Story (Short Story)

Her Story

Originally, she didn't know how this could happen. She was Oriane for goodness sake. She's got it all, the looks, the personality, the charisma, the smarts, everything! Everything but him. But did she regret it? No. She did cry her eyes out for a couple nights but there was no turning back. Life isn't for mistakes. Mistakes like him. Now you may be wondering, what is she talking about so ominously? Well, this is it. This is her story:

Dajoné was arriving any minute now. She had showered, put on a perfume she'd been saving for this exact moment, styled her hair, even put on some lip gloss... today was the day. He was going to arrive, she'd confess, and then they'd kiss, and live happily ever after in their suburban home with two dogs and a cat. A knock on the door signaled his arrival, snapping her out of her beautiful daydream. "Hey!" Dajoné's voice rang from outside, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah!" she called back, "Make yourself at home. I'll be out in a sec." With a final inspection of her outfit, she deemed herself hotter than ever, with that classic casual but hot but not too try-hard but still hot kind of vibe, which is saying something because she has yet to meet a person that matches her ego. One quick brush of her hair and she was out, strutting her way to the living room where Dajoné had followed her instructions and made himself at home on her couch; hogging all the pillows and blankets she might add, that bitch.

"What's up?" he beamed as she walked in, "You never call me at four o'clock in the afternoon."

"I just needed to talk to you, that's all," she replied. Taking her deep breath in, she began reciting the speech she'd spent all of the last night crafting; even waking up her English major friend in the dead of night to review it five times. "I've been developing a crush on you ever since we met two years ago at the start of college and it's only grown since I've gotten to know you. You make me the happiest when I'm around you and never cease to make me smile. Even though we are best friends, I want to be more than that, so will you go on a date with me?"

Dajoné looks startled as he blinks up at her once, twice. He opens his mouth, though no sound escapes, so he promptly closes it again. She resists the urge to laugh, seeing as he looked quite like a pufferfish, afraid to break the moment. He finally clears his throat and gives her a pained smile. Oh shit. "I-I'm sorry, Ori," he begins, "But I don't feel the same way. I've never seen you as more than a friend."

"Oh," she states dumbly. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to say that he's been crushing on her too and then they'd kiss and go out to their favorite cafe to grab a drink and then go to the park where they'd find a stray dog and take it home to raise him, which will be the first of their three fur babies! How could he reject her? How could he reject this? This smothering beauty of a person, a goddess gifted to earth by the gods themselves?

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he's anxious, "I um, I think I'll head home. See you around?"

"Yeah," she mumbles, only after he's gone. She was still trying to comprehend this. He had rejected her. This only calls for one thing: "Hey. Do you want to go to the bar?"

"Oriane. It's four," her English major best friend tries to reason. Yes, the one she woke up last night to go over her confession speech five times and is probably really cranky for the disruption of her sleep schedule.

"So? The bar's open at four."

She hears a sigh at the other end of the line and beams. "Fine."

That night, or rather four-thirty in the afternoon, she gets horribly wasted, downing her second bottle of beer after only a couple of minutes of reaching the bar. Deciding it wasn't enough, she waved the bartender over, slurring for a bottle of vodka, to share of course. Her friends crowd around, each taking a shot until the bottle has emptied, and soon, they were all well past tipsy. Somehow, she had revealed what she did earlier that afternoon, receiving much outrage and disbelief, and someone had suggested she go 'scold some sense into that man immediately!' (their words, not her's). Her drunken brain had decided that was a great idea, and with the encouragement of her equally drunk friends, she grabbed her stilettos and headed to the building she'd grown to know so well.