{Change} isn't Changing // Kire

{ E m e r y . A l l a d e - M o r e n o }

Things have changed for me, and that's okay
I feel the same, I'm on my way, and I say
Things have changed for me, and that's okay

I feel a hand on my chin and wince silently. Because it's been so long since anyone's caressed me this way, I have to push away the instinct that tells me the feeling is uncomfortable. It isn't; it's just foreign. My mother wasn't like other mothers, whose children meant the world to them. I was just another accident in my mother's life, given so little care that she was forced to give me over to a foster family. Of course, it wasn't much better there. And now, I'm not even sure my adoptive parents can consistently remember my name. Maybe if I stood out just a little bit more and if I really showed them that I knew how to fight, they'd love me more.

Independence is something I've embraced naturally. Having lived wthout love for so long, it's a necessity. That makes close contact an abnormal concept, and trust even more foreign. But the feeling of Rolex's hand under my chin is comforting: a feeling I haven't fully embraced for what seems like centuries.

I suddenly realize how stupid I was for staring at the ground. Rolex hand is beneath my chin because he wants to see my eyes; he wants to see my face. My excuse? I haven't experienced a moment like this. I've never been this close to anyone. How am I supposed to know what to do? Ashamed of my inexperience, I have the urge to look down at the floor again; but isn't that exactly what I'm trying not to do?

Within a moment, my eyes are focused directly on Rolex's, so vibrant and green. My insides immediately melt as a smile crosses his face. Completely drawn in, I can't help but smile back. "Anytime," he says, and just the mere tone of his voice sets me off. For those few seconds, I am one-hundred percent vulnerable, and for those few seconds, I honestly don't care. I don't care if Rolex is a liar or a cheater or if a few seconds from now, everything will be different, because for once, I stop letting my thoughts get the best of me and turn my brain off.

I like this feeling. All those years spent convincing myself that love didn't exist, that happiness wasn't real, and that the only person I could trust was myself--all those years were suddenly nonexistant, pushed aside in a forgotten wave of memories. He repositions his hand, moving it up gently to my cheek and leans down just a bit. I've fallen so deep into this single moment that at this point, my feet are planted, my whole body frozen, not a thought running through my brain except for the fact that Rolex's face is the most beautiful thing and that and he's about to kiss me and that I want him to kiss me but what am I going to do if he--

His lips touch mine, and for a few seconds, I'm taken aback. I've never kissed anyone before; my mother may have kissed me back when I was still a baby, but that's doubtable. I don't close my eyes. Instinct does that to me.

The kiss ends as Rolex pulls away. His green eyes pull me down further into this gaping hole that I can neither explain nor comprehend. My thoughts flicker back into place, and the careless feeling that had filled my brain two seconds ago is now washed away by reason and rationalism.

"I-I'm... I'm," Rolex stutters--something I haven't heard him do before. He blushes slightly, trying to hide the bashfulness. I can tell he is nervous about my reaction. After my reaction earlier, he has every reason to be. "I just... I... it just felt... right."

It did. It still does. But reason creeps up on me again, and guilt fills my stomach. I just let myself be vulnerable, something I've avoided for longer than anyone can imagine. I tremble slightly, hoping Rolex doesn't feel it, as I try to erase the image of Aaron's face from my brain. I was a stupid girl back then, and I don't want to be her again. Most of all, I don't want Rolex to be anything like Aaron. I want him out of my life, forever erased. But even I know that he's still out there somewhere; no district could ever be big enough to make me feel comfortable.

I feel my palms getting sweaty, and gradually I loosen my grip on Rolex's hand. I take the slightest step back before pulling my hand away completely, out of fear, of course. "I..I'm no good at this," I say unsteadily, still timid, trying to forsee the effects of loving this boy in front of me. "I'm fourteen," I say honestly, wondering whether he had thought I was any older. Hoping that doesn't change his perception of me, I instinctively focus my eyes on the floor again: bad habit.

I want to love him, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid of changing who I am, just to be the shadow of someone else; I'm afraid of becoming vulnerable to the people around me, letting them play with my head; and most of all, I'm afraid that there will be an end, because there's always an end.

Why do people take risks just to feel happy? Why do people fall in love when they know that love only lasts forever in 0.000001% instances? I've always figured they're just stupid. But maybe not, because they still want the same thing that I want right now.
People only love each other after they've given something, given a piece of themselves. It's impossible to love someone who doesn't care. I care, and it's about time I start caring more. But when I lock myself in my room and cry because I fell too deep into something that never existed, I'm going to have no one to blame but myself.

"There's never a happy ending, so why do people even try?" I ask out of nowhere, so brutally honest and pessimistic at the same time as I look up at Rolex. I don't mean for it to come out; in fact, I want my mind off the subject of love and on to something less stressful.

"Sorry," I say, after a short pause. "Ignore me. Thinking out loud. I just..." I can't finish the sentence; too many thoughts interrupt me and I suddenly wish that I could be one of those carefree people who don't have to think. Because in all truth, it's overwhelming. The kiss--as magnificent as it was--paired with my disaster of thoughts: definitely not a happy combination.

A few seconds ago, I would have never put a thought like that out in the open, but I suppose that because I have, I'm starting to trust Rolex more, just a little bit more.

I don't know what love feels like. Is this what it is? The tingly feeling in your stomach, the smile that's too difficult to hold back, the feeling that just seems to blur all of your thoughts into this mess you can't and don't want to sort out--if it is, I want to embrace it whole-heartedly and push it away at the same time.

But if anything is certain, I don't want Rolex to leave. The last thing I want him to think is that I don't care. So, I quickly grab his hand again, finding the comfortable position where my fingers fit into the gaps between his, and regretting my earlier statement about things never lasting, I look up at him, letting him know that I want him to stay, as selfish as the idea is.

"...I just wish I could be happy without having to question it," I finish softly. Again, something personal, something that a few hours ago, I never would have shared with anyone else. I smile silently at the idea that I just might be opening up to Rolex. Slowly, of course.

But then I remember how scary that reality could be.

{ E m e r y . A l l a d e - M o r e n o }

Things have changed for me, and that's okay
I feel the same, I'm on my way, and I say
Things have changed for me, and that's okay

"Just let me know what you need me to do, I'll do it." I smile at Rolex's caring instincts. At the same time, I wonder whether he knows what he's getting himself into. He obviously trusts me to a certain extent, but should he? Even I know it isn't smart to trust a Moreno. Sure, I might not be quite as intense as some of the others, but that doesn't mean Rolex can go ahead and make assumptions.

I'm concerned, for reasons I can't figure out. I like Rolex enough that I would never hurt him, but maybe it's fear that's making me concerned. Maybe I'm just afraid that in a few days, he won't like me anymore. He has good reason, I think, putting myself down. I'm not used to people liking me, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise. In some ways, it would even be a relief: back to stubborn little indepedent Emery.

He pulls me into a hug, and I this time I don't flinch. Instead, I wrap my arms around him, resting my cheek on his chest. And that's when I remember why it wouldn't be a relief. For a few moments, we stand there, ignoring the natural chaos of the gym. It feels better this time--much more comfortable. I wasn't ready for the kiss, but a hug I can handle.

The hug I share with Rolex only reminds me of how much I miss the feeling. I've always seemed to avoid hugs; or maybe they've avoided me. Either way, human contact and I have kept our distance. Yet, this hug is something else entirely. Hugs have always been a symbol of support and unity, and although I've spent so much time convincing myself otherwise, I'm almost positive that support is the one thing I need right now, despite my desperate desire for independence.

When I think about hugs, I think about my mom--my biological one--, my brother, and my foster mother. They're long gone now, all of them either having given up on me or decieved me in one way or another. Trying to divert my mind from those past situations, I repeatedly tell myself, over and over again in my head that Rolex won't do that. He won't abandon me.

As I rest my head against his chest, I realize that his shirt smells subtly like the one I'm wearing now and it makes me smile, ever so slightly. I close my eyes slowly, but before I can, Rolex releases the embrace and I let go, almost resistantly. Still, his hold on my hand remains. "I'm not sure how impressed my parents would be right now," Rolex says, humor lighting up his eyes. "But right now, I really don't care."

Parents. Curiosity fills me as I start to wonder what Rolex's parents are like. At least he has parents, I think selfishly. But then I feel guilty for even letting that thought pass through my mind: I do have parents--adoptive, of course, but nonetheless, still parents. Do they care, and would they care, if I dropped dead right now? I doubt it, but I suppose it's only fair. I haven't proven myself worthy to them yet, so why should I expect any attention at all?

Considering Rolex's extreme fighting skills, his parents are probably tough on him, always inspecting his every move, trying so desperately to get him into those games. I'd never had parents like that--the Morenos are the closest thing--but I know what they're like at least. There's too many others in my house for my parents to ever know what I'm doing. Then again, it all adds up. You don't train, you don't get the love and attention that your siblings get. You don't train, you die at the hands of someone else. That's the new life that I'm living, and still, the household has only gotten more intense since Jae's death. Another disgrace to the family. To be honest, I'd barely known him, but he had this sort of confident air about him. Admittedly, I thought he was weak at first, until I realized there was so much more to him. He was clever--and still, he'd failed to return home.

It's as though you can feel the impatience lingering in the air everytime you get near my parents. More than anything, they want a Victor, and although I often question training and sometimes even the games themselves, if that's the key to earning their love and attention, and even more so, my own life, then so be it. Because I'm still new to the household, I can't fight with weapons like some of the others can; and there's absolutely no way I'm going to kill someone with two fists. Most of the time, the harm I do is instinctive, almost accidental; and maybe in this case, that is working in my favor.

I decide against giving a short response about my parents, or even more accurately, my household. Maybe he's already heard the rumors about the things that go on in there. Of course, it is something we're generally supposed to keep quiet, so maybe not.

"Well then," I say, naturally returning that devious smile of his. "We'd better start doing something productive."

My eyes flicker over to Rolex's sword. Maybe he can teach me, so that the next time I walk into my house I'm prepared for what's to come. I don't tell him about the sword beneath my mattress which I barely know how to wield, or the knife which I ridiculously left in my room. My parents gave them to me the day I came home, but still, I've almost never touched my sword, and the knife I've only used for defense, too afraid of the power I'd have if I used it for anything else.

After ten minutes of being completely open with Rolex, I immediately feel as though I'm holding things back from him again--but only the things that I am sure it would be better not to share at this point. It's as though I've split myself into two: one, an adopted Moreno girl who keeps her distance from the rest of her family, until something finally sets her off; and two, Emery, the girl opening herself up to this Career boy, Rolex Ghram. Such different people, but nevertheless, the same.

I pick up Rolex's sword off the ground, which is heavier than what I'm prepared for. "Wanna teach me?" I ask in that same lighthearted voice as before. "I promise I won't break it."

{ E m e r y . A l l a d e - M o r e n o }

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?