Instead of Me

∆17∆

Annie laid there, sprawled out across my bed, bare, with sheets wrapped around her. Her hair draped over her face. Her breaths were slow and even. The afternoon light shined through the blinds, cascading across her seemingly flawless back. She was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I never felt more intoxicated than when I was looking at her in that moment. Her eyelids twitched as she dreamed.

I was sitting on the top of my desk, admiring the view, playing with one of my Polaroid cameras. She was too stunning. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. I wished the moment could last for forever. 

But eventually she would go back to Heath. He would experience having her in his bed, but it would not even compare to what Annie and I felt. He could try all he wanted, but the passion wouldn't be the same. And then, maybe, Annie would understand that she should be with me. She might realize that I'm the one she loves. She'll run to me, confessing her feelings and apologizing for ever believing that I would only ever be her best friend.

I held my camera up, keeping it steady, and snapped a photograph because that would probably never happen. This may be the only time Annie and I would be so intimate with each other. She could never see me as more than a friend. We had known each other for so long. If we had loved each other for years, one of us probably would have figured it out by this point. It was hopeless fantasy, being with Annie, but I could still imagine it nonetheless. I slipped the Polaroid out and shook it gently, waiting for the color to appear. 

That was my new favorite picture of Annie. Forget about the arabesque in the rain. Nothing was more raw than seeing her sleeping, completely naked, in my bed. 

I grabbed a Sharpie marker from the drawer in my desk and jotted down the date on the bottom of the photo. I hid it inside my English textbook that was set on the chair in front of my desk. Nobody could know I took that, especially Heath. If Heath ever saw that photo, I would be a dead man walking. I technically already was having given into Annie's suggestion. 

I silently slipped off the desk and tiptoed over to my bed. Carefully, I crawled underneath the covers and wrapped my arm around Annie's back. She shrugged a bit, but she didn't wake. I played with her hair, twirling my fingers through it. It was finally dry. Her skin was cool. I traced my fingertips along her spine, finally giving into the urge I had had for weeks. I studied each curve it made, pressing its indentation into my finger, trying to store it into my memory. 

Soon, I was asleep. 

~~~

There was only a week left until the Valentine's Day Dance. It seemed as though everybody in my god forsaken school had a date except for me. Maybe I was too picky with girls, or maybe all the girls that might actually want to go with me realized that they didn't stand a chance against Annie. Not that it mattered anyway. Annie hadn't spoken a single word to me since we slept together. 

In Journalism, Mr. Avery started reminding us that it was crunch time. We had to get the special issue of the paper finished as soon as possible. He ran around the classroom, screaming his head off at his seven students, his usually calm and serene face turning as red as a tomato. "Katherine, this layout looks like crap! I have had you for four years now. I taught you better than this!" He then moved over to Heath. "LaMontagne, what on earth is this article? This is supposed to be about how Anastasia is the model student, not a silly little love letter about her!" He threw Heath's drafts back at his chest. I would be lying if I said that didn't bring me the slightest bit of joy. Mr. Avery stomped over to me at the desktop computer as I downloaded photos of Annie. "Are these all your pictures?" he yelled. I was expecting some sort of lecture, but he told me, "These are actually pretty good. Keep up the work, Finn." He said it angrily though. It was almost a backhanded compliment, but not quite.