Cigarette Smoke

Lucinda Sinclaire. A girl of very few words. She had thick-rimmed glasses that were far too big for her face; a mouth full of metal; wide, hopeful blue eyes. She was also non-existent, as of three years ago.

Luce. Luce. Luce. The girl on fire. The girl everybody aspired to be. The girl who was envied by most. The girl who was loved by all. The girl who never gave a shit. The girl with many secrets.

Lucinda Sinclaire fell in love with the wrong person at the wrong time. She was buried in a drawer, where her thick-rimmed glasses and knee-length skirts were hidden. Everybody forgot about Lucinda Sinclaire; as if she was never a somebody but rather a nobody. She wasn't important to anybody. She was just a silent memory, too quiet to ever rise to the surface.

Maybe she had drowned in a sea of secrecy and emotions. Burned in a fire of pain and mystery. Lucinda was dead to the world. Every single person on Earth.

Except him. He remembered the geeky girl who blushed too much and smiled too little. Everybody loved Luce because she was Luce. Everybody hated Lucinda because she wasn't Luce.

He loved Lucinda because she was his. And now Luce was everybody's and nobody's at the same time.

Lucinda was lost; gone; forgotten. And it was all his fault.

^^^

Or the one where a girl falls in love with her best friends brother.

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