Paper Hearts (boyxboy)

Carly

High school was nothing like I expected it to be. It was supposed to be simple. Fun, even. That's what my dad always told me it would be like when I was growing up, at least. By the end of my first year at Wood Creek though, I knew it was nothing like what you see in the movies.

People can be so damn cruel. You have to be careful not to step out of the daily order, because they notice. They come at you like a pack of wolves with their nasty words and snarky jokes. The scariest part is not the verbal attacks though, it's all the violence that comes from kids nowadays. When did it become the norm to treat people like less than human? And now here I am, in the prime of my life, the middle of my senior year, listening to a story about some punk kid beat the living shit out of a sophomore who happened to irritate him. The way she tells it, all the idiots were actually cheering, like its a game or something. The louder they cheered, the harder he hit.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask her, wanting to say all the things I'm thinking but deciding against it. Her thick red lips are curved up her pale face as I say this. Figures she'd be smiling. She's no different than all them. What disdain I have for the lot of them, a generation of depravity and selfishness.

As soon as I ask this question though, she makes an unpleasant face at me and scrunches her nose. "Why? Because, Noah..." She scoffs like I've insulted her. "It was funny. And I thought you'd want to hear about my day."

I really hate when she makes faces like that. Normally her face is straight and coy, perfectly painted to hide the ordinary she wishes no one would notice. And few do notice. Girls and guys alike have told me they think she's the prettiest girl in the school, some have even ventured to say the whole town. It is true, she certainly is beautiful. She has a taught body adorned with porcelain skin too smooth to blemish, complimented by eye-drawing curves. Girls, I find, will often pay most mind to her intricate hairstyles. Usually she wears her thick ash-colored curls in a delicate display atop her head, often with a bow or headband to match the day's outfit. Men, on the contrary, seem to keep their attentions directed to her less modest assets, typically displayed in the form of jeans a size too small and deep-cut sweaters. I for one pay no attention to any of these things. A person's physical appearance, I've come to find, not only loses its effect after some time, but becomes an irritating repetition. No one doubts that she is lovely on the exterior. No one. Since I first saw her, I always considered her the embodiment of today's "perfect teenage girl." I was fond at first of this concept of a person having no outward flaws, however, it's appeal is long since gone. Furthermore, not a month into our relationship, I began to notice her hands. They were still feminine, but meatier than most and became unpleasant to look at. She painted her nails bright colors and wore rings and rubber bracelets, as if she never even considered they may be her worst feature. Still, I hated the way her hands looked. Even now I find myself avoiding looking at them if I can, despite this growing indifference I've developed towards her.

I lean my head back in the chair. Thinking too much gives me a headache. How very empty I am.

My fingers twitter thoughtlessly on the piece of paper I've been folding in my hand and I look away from her. "It's not funny. It's cruel." I finally mutter.

She cackles devilishly, her smooth bare shoulders moving slightly in the laugh. "Whatever, Noah! You wouldn't know funny if it slapped you across the face!"

I just shake my head slowly, not making any eye contact. She drops her smile eventually, and we sit there in bitter silence for a few moments.

She looks with a pouty face at the paper I'm twisting, finding her window and changing the subject. "What are you doing with that thing, anyway?"

"What?" I look down at the origami swan in my hand. "It's just ori....um...paper folding." I flick it aside quickly.

She gives me another ugly face and laughs again. "Wow, Really?" I look at her scoffing as if it's just childish. "Are you turning gay on me?"

"What? No, damn!" I retort. "Excuse me for trying to make you something cute."

She knows I wasn't making it for her. I'm not stupid, I know she doesn't want a dumb swan. I just really like origami. I'm not very artistic, but folding sheets of paper into little fragile sculptures makes me feel...accomplished. It's a fascinating part of Japanese culture, really. And who's to say--

"Yeah, whatever. I don't want some stupid little bird anyway, so you can stop wasting your time." Her snappy comment interrupts my thoughts. As she says this, she flips her hair and turns her body slightly away from me.

I roll my eyes and shake my head a bit so that she doesn't notice and grab the little bird back off the table. It's about an inch in every direction and light pink from the paper napkin it was born from.

She looks at me from over her shoulder. I keep my head down.

"Noah..." She starts.

"Carly," I coo, trying not be rude in my tone.

She takes my hand away from the little swan and pulls my attention to her, stroking my rough skin. This surprises me, since I was enjoying my little task.

"So anyway..." Carly sings in an unexpected tone. "My parent's won't be home for a couple of hours..." Her piercing green eyes look almost joyous in her smile.

"Not tonight," I say bluntly.

She narrows her eyes and sucks in her cheeks. It's the face she doesn't realize she makes when she's angry with something. A little-known fact about girls like Carly, when they don't get what they want, it's like a personal blow to their pride. "Why not..." She practically huffs.

"I don't want to." Somehow I can't say anything further.

"But..." She starts, "You never want to. We haven't since that time in September."

Has it really been that long? I really haven't noticed. No way it was that long.

"Don't you find me attractive anymore?" She presses.

I remember that day, though it seems so trivial now. All my friends were excited for me, like the typical boneheaded teenager would be. They said sex is the best part of a relationship, and I was going to be blown away. Literally.

Sure, I laughed with them like it was no big deal, but I was excited, too, I had been waiting a long time. A long, long, time. Then we got to it, and it just wasn't like I had thought. I didn't really feel anything. That was the day I knew I was a little more empty than I had realized.

"No, of course I find you attractive." I finally say, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "I'm just... I'm tired tonight.

She doesn't buy it. No, her gaze stays solid on me. "You say you're tired every time I ask. This isn't fair, Noah."

Tears begin to swell in her emerald eyes and are pouring down to the carpet before I know it. "Sweetie, don't cry... I'm sorry."

"Shut up!" She snaps through her tears. "You're not sorry. You think I'm ugly. You can't bear the thought of being with me."

I look at my girl, balling her eyes out just in front of me. I want to tell her she's wrong, it's all in her head. I want to tell her all the things in my head, about my empty feelings, and her limitless beauty. I want to confess my apathy. None of these words will come out, though. They stay stuck inside my dry throat.

"Alright baby," The words fall out like an empty promise. "Let's do it."

She pops up without hesitation, as if she had expected that answer. She's wiping her face and smiling brightly, like I just made her day. There's not a single word passed as Carly begins to lead me up the stairs to her room as quickly as her legs will take her.

Her house is big, one of the nicer ones here in Virginia. The walls are lined with beige and mahogany themed paper, and there are vases upon vases everywhere around the house. I look intently at the passing decorations, losing my thoughts in where they might have come from.

"Oh, Noah! It's been so long!" Carly cries as we finally reach her door.

I manage a smile and nod, wondering what maybe one of my friends would be saying, if they were here instead of me. I scour my brain for the right things to say.

She tugs me through her door, beaming and interrupting my thoughts. I take a deep sigh behind her back, and brace myself with a crocodile smile.