ring pops and cigs

07

fatima cackled, head thrown back as she laughed, and it was times like this i forgot she was better than me. makiah sat at the edge of the table, snorting along with christina at their jokes.

"so you're telling me you put pop rocks in her panties?" christina's cherry red mouth fell agape, and even with all the weird expressions, she still was a model. long legs and short, thick and curled eyelashes, dimples and full lips-she was aesthetically pleasing in every way. literally. her sister ran a fashion business, so starring in shows was a constant thing. i had once participated with her-during my emo phase in sixth grade- and though i love being dolled up, i don't think it's for me. the whole 'confident, long legs strut' gig.

"it wasn't me, it was marie!" fatima accused, her high pitched laughter echoing throughout the dining hall. we were at some high end burger joint, splurging on our rich friends money.

i shrugged, "mans was askin' for it when she literally tried drowning me." i kissed my teeth, trying to fight back a smile.

"you mad wrong for that." makiah shook her had, impossibly straight hair falling just past her broad shoulders. makiah was the definition of a shorty. she was loaded in all the right areas, slim where it needed to be, and chock full of charm. full lips, a big but rather cute nose, and heavily arched eyebrows-she was a package meant to be treasured.

"and you're a moral compass?" i sneak a not so sneaky glance at brandon-the boy who's been in love with makiah since eighth-maybe even seventh- grade. he was one of my best friends, and when makiah got him sad, his mood is consistent for the rest of the day. there's nothing that can cheer him up. thankfully, today isn't one of those days. she scoffs, though there's no malice, huffing a quiet "it's not my fault!"

fatima grinned once he arrived, kaleb stuck juggling six drinks in hand and straws by himself. quickly rushing to his aid, she giggled when he ruffled her hair after helping him set the drinks down. i wanted so badly for the floor to part and i could sink into the floor. they weren't flirting-i knew that-but how come she gets to be close to him? how come she can lay her head on his shoulder whenever she pleases, and he could share all his funny stories with her? why does he want to share all his goldfish with her?

why do all my friends always assume i do all the bad stuff? i mean-yeah, sometimes (most of the time) it's me. but everytime she does something that "i would do" everyone just assumed it's me. and she says nothing. i remember the teachers, how they like me but adore her. how they refuse to say anything moderately bad to her, even if she is doing something wrong. they tell me to stop talking when she was talking to me. they always put all the blame on me and she never fucking realizes how many people adore her and i just want to be loved like she is.

attention whore, my mind rebuttals.

i clenched my fists. now isn't the time, i try and remind myself. but when is?

you're being over dramatic, i reason, but that only made me feel worse.

i felt it in my nose first. the tiny prickles, and it worked it's way up to the corners of my eyes. i can't tell if my heart is beating or not. if it's beating too loud or not at all. three steadying breathes. that simply knocked me more off balance. fuck. i quickly excuse myself. nobody questions it.

i rush into the bathroom. my lungs are even more unsteady from the sprint. thank god it was a single bathroom. i lock the door, and place my hands on the each side of the sink. i leaned closer, and watched my face fade from the fog overcoming the mirror. i shut my eyes. they're starting to burn.

"c'mon marie." i silently pleaded, "did you expect to be chosen over a nice girl? you've read all the books. you've seen all the movies. the good girls get the good guy and girls like you-" my voice cracks. i don't even wanna speak to myself. "girls like you are left to rot." disgust carved its way into my voice, tunneling through the thin stream of sound i had left.

i laughed. what the fuck is this? "you're distraught over a boy? that's pathetic. you know better. you've-you're always known better."

romance is shoved down our throats, but when heartbreaks rots your insides-when the sugar is stolen from the lemonade- you regret it. you regret all the songs you sang along to-all disgustingly sappy about their lover. you regret all the movies that you secretly watch in your pass time. you regret all the tv shows exposed to you as a child that created fairytales of princes and swashbuckling thieves that may have stolen your heart, too. you regret the books, whose paragraphs caused a flurry of butterflies to a love induced you.

falling in love with an idea sucks. especially when the idea involves running away from yourself and all the other problems and running towards a sunset where forever is in the moment.

when falling in love is at three am and you believe that he thinks about you when he's about to go to sleep-but does he not care during the middle of the day? when the sun is at its peak and you're at the lowest? does love only happen at midnight? why not under the blush toned sun that rises away from the lover it didn't know it had?

fuck. i rest my forehead against the mirror and i try not pondering the amount of germs absorbing into my skin from far worse people. my throat is raw, but i still try begging myself to stay strong.

how cliche.

the weight on my chest feels like a blanket drenched in the thunderstorms welcoming autumn; it's wrapping around me and it's hard to distinguish whether this is sadness or my skin. i want it off. i want it off.

"fuck!" i whisper-but it feels like i was screeching due to the rawness in my throat, quickly turning on the water to start scrubbing at my skin. dirty dirty dirty.

my heart is trying to escape my ribs, and my once unsteady but deep breaths have been reduced to pants. the world is spinning, and i feel my shirt stick to my clothes, and my hair mat to the back of my neck.

dirtygirldirtygirldirtygirl.

i remember his lips, and the rapid rate of my hands chaffing against eachother increases my a tenthfold. shit. my fingertips are starting to bleed but i can't stop, and i think i'm going to pass out.

the sun is caught in my throat. it's burning and i wonder if this is how the sky feels everyday-to be shrouded and burned and only blue for the same sun that burns holes into the atmosphere. the sun is caught in my throat and i swallow it, but allow a few of its molten rays to spill out of my eyes. the sun is caught in my throat, but is pushed down to my stomach where it flips and twists my insides to fit it's comfort. the sun nestles itself into the crevices of my ribs and i don't feel warm.

there's a knock on the door. "hello?"

i freeze, and i look down at my hands. the chubby fingers are tainted red-and it's not from the sweet juice leaking out of a strawberry, it's from the lemon blood that pumps within me. i glance up at myself, spotting puffy eyes and lone tear streaks. quickly composing myself, washing my face, patting my hair down, and shoving my hands into my pocket as soon as i open the door-i exit as if nothing happened.

when i get back to the table, nobody comments. simply noting my presence and continuing with the conversation.

i can't tell if i'd rather have it this way or not.

-

hey guys ! i just wanna mention that although marie seems way too sad to be about a boy but please note !!! she's not good with feelings !!! she's just blaming all her problems on him because the pain he inflicted on her is the most obvious to her !!!!!!!!!!