𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝟏𝟗 | 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐝

Antoinette

           My eyes were glued to the window, captivated by the way the sunlight poured through it, casting warm, golden hues across my bedroom. The gentle rays seemed to dance on the glass, creating a mesmerizing spectacle that held my attention completely. I was lying on top of my comforter, not having the energy to get underneath the covers, and wrapped in my arms was my Unicorn plush—After taking a shower yesterday, I found myself in this position and hadn't had the energy to move since. The stillness of the moment was both comforting and suffocating, as my thoughts swirled around,

I heard the bedroom door open, but I didn't pay it much attention, unable to tear my eyes away from the window.

"Annie," Andrew's voice broke through the comforting silence, "You didn't come down for dinner last night, and you missed breakfast this morning too." Truthfully, I'd been surprised to hear his voice, considering he hadn't spoken to me in days.

"I have a headache," I said truthfully, my voice barely above a whisper.

There were a hundred thoughts swirling through my mind, all surrounding what happened yesterday in the pool house. The memory of that moment played on a loop, each detail more vivid than the last, making it hard to focus on anything else. It was a part of me that felt stupid... that felt disgusting. Most men that I encountered in my life lusted over me, seeing me for nothing more than my looks. Take Ryan Weston, for example. He knew nothing about me except that I was pretty and a good ballerina, and now he wanted to marry me. The idea that my worth was reduced to the way that I looked always bothered me in a way that I couldn't explain.

For a long time, it really troubled me, making me wonder if anyone would ever see me for more than my looks. I thought I had finally found that person until yesterday; I believed Michael was different from everyone else. Despite my appearance, he still treated me poorly for a while, so I thought he saw beyond that. But yesterday, when I finally felt comfortable enough to confess my feelings to him, he looked at me like it was the last thing he wanted to hear, as if he didn't have any feelings for me. Maybe I misunderstood the signals; perhaps he just wanted to remain friends and occasionally felt something for me. It's possible that he didn't experience the same emotional connection that I had for him,

The concept made my head hurt in ways that I couldn't even begin to explain, but if that was the reality, there was nothing I could do to change it. If Michael didn't like me in a deeper, more meaningful way, then he just didn't, and I had to accept that, no matter how much it stung. I just wanted to be a part of his story, somehow, someway, even if it meant setting aside my own feelings for him. Having him in my life was more important to me than anything else. But if that was the case, then I didn't want to kiss him again or do the thing that we did again—It would be too painful to pretend there was something more when there wasn't.

"Then you shouldn't be staring at the sun." In an instant, Andrew was closing my curtains, shutting out the sunlight from my room. He was dressed in a suit, suggesting he was either heading to work or taking a break. Andrew knelt down, bringing himself closer to my level to get a better look at my face.

"Are you upset with me?" I wondered, remembering the way he acted towards me the other night and these past few days. His distant demeanor and the coldness in his eyes had been hard to ignore. I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed between us, and the uncertainty gnawed at me.

Andrew sighed. "No, I'm not upset with you, Antoinette." Normally, hearing those words would have brought me relief, but I was too emotionally drained by everything that had happened. Instead, I just nodded, trying to absorb his reassurance. "I just don't like the things that you're doing."