7.
The girl hated his hands. Hated how clammy they were. Hated his smile and how often it turned into a smirk. He was a clown one minute and a brute the next. She barely had time to laugh before she cried.
She couldn't believe she once wrote poems for him — held him so high, worshipped even, willingly before.
It was not like he forced her to stay.
But there was an aching hollow part that convinced her that she deserved him. Words thrown at her behind cafeteria halls, bathroom walls — words that etched themselves into her skin and stripped her of her self-esteem.
She looked around for his support, knowing as she did that he would never come. But she felt neither abandoned or sad — she was long past disappointment.
8.
Months passed. The girl was stable now, or so she thought. She avoided his eyes, no longer craned for him in the cafeteria, no longer stayed behind in old locker rooms.
Convinced herself that it was all behind her — a new year meant a new her. Determined to bury him, she dug a hole. It broke her heart. But she didn't love him, she told herself over and over again.
Down went all the entries full of naïve dreams, the letters she began but never finished, and yet, addressed always to him.
Clods of dirt covered his empty cologne bottle that he had once left behind — ironic how most things he left her were like that bottle.
Hollow, empty — yet still holding remnants of the real thing, of what could've been — they haunted her the most.
YOU ARE READING
Autumn Leaves (a short story)
Short StoryA Girl, tormented by her past loves, gets on a tram, and finds solace and support from a woman who has gone through similar ordeals in her youth. As they each reflect on their pasts and decisions, a question which has tormented women for generations...
