The Beginning of the End (Editing)

Three : So Wrong

Eleanor Lilliman is the perfect definition of anything both sweet and sour. Shes there, always, like some lame ass teddy bear or something but not lame. And yet, shes toxic and listens to her brain other than her heart. She sticks to reputation, not to her own motives. She told me once while she was drunk as a sailor that she wanted to be a famous artist. I knew it wasn't the alcohol talking at the time because she had this look in the very crystal blue of her eyes that held sincerity. It was beautiful, the passion that she wanted to let out. I could see it through the slur in her voice and the poison in her system.

Another time, while she was higher than cloud nine, she was painting on a canvas. I was stoned as well, so I don't really remember what it was exactly that she painted. All I remember that it was beautiful and full of colour. She smiled while she painted as well, it was a smile that etched into my numb mind. I then recall her coming to me after she'd finished, and whispered, "That picture is everything that I'm not". 

I think shes as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than what I recall of that painting. Shes complex, like the stroked of her brush. Messy like the occasional splatters that she whipped on the canvas. Original, like her on and off personality. Jaw-dropping, like her in general.

"Stop staring at me, Ky" She laughs from her bed, rolling over onto her back and staring at the ceiling to the spiderweb of fairy lights that scatter it. "How's your eye feeling? You're alright?" 

"I'm fine I guess.." I murmur, hugging my knees to my shoulder staring blankly from the TV and Eleanor. Shes lost in thought, contemplating everything and anything that happens to cross her mind. I've always loved the way she thinks. Its so, different and intense. I adore it. "How about you? You don't feel like shit after that party?" She groans and rolls back onto her stomach, running her slender fingers through her messy black hair. 

"Don't remind me, but you do realize that it was like three days ago right? You were knocked out cold," She looks out the window, to the rain trickling down on this miserable town. It never really rains here, I guess that's why shes taking this moment to appreciate it. Its soft, gentle. "I'm sorry that you went to get a towel for me .. I would've been fine without it", she quietly says, looking down and picking at her nails.

"Don't be sorry, I just wanted to help". I actually didn't want to go out at all, but I did it for you. I don't think I'd do it for anyone else..

"But Ky, you shouldn't feel obligated to do it for me. I'm nothing but an overrated whore who deserves nothing more than to get the shit that I ask for," she looks up at me, with grief in her piercing blue eyes, then back down."I don't know why you keep getting hurt for me"

What on earth makes a girl so mesmerizing think so lowly of herself? What has made this light dim itself? Shes crazy to believe that shes not worth the struggle of fetching something as simple as a towel. It just goes to show how shes been treated in the past, and how much better I could make her feel. I mean sure, there are some consequences on my behalf... because of her, but that's beside the point. She's worth it. But trying to tell her that is harder than just telling her, because I wouldn't be able to tell her that without her hating me.

When we were younger, I had to promise to be her best friend. And to only  be her best friend . Nothing less, nothing more. If I put that aside and developed anything more, or less, that she wouldn't be able to stand the thought of me. I don't know if I understand the logic behind it... but I just don't know  if I could forgive myself if I let that little secret slip.