tears to a fire. ally & mav
Aug 19, 2020 16:48:24 GMT -5
Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Aug 19, 2020 16:48:24 GMT -5
M A V E R I C K
Getting drunk and kissing Ally St. Cloud over the summer had been reckless at best, and stupid at worst, and you're pretty sure that the puppy dog eyes she flashed you during homeroom has you leaning more in the direction of stupid rather than just reckless.
You knew you weren't interested in her, knew it and did it anyway.
You are a boy terrified by the notion that you are wasting your life, that you are throwing away days that should be spent any other way, that your brothers are going to have been right all along and you're going to get to the end of your life and realize that you had all the wrong ideas, loved all the wrong things, gave your attention to every wrong detail. And yet, there's one thing you're most absolutely certain of: Ally St. Cloud is not who you should be spending your social energy on.
And you still did.
Everyone in this fucking school is in a coma of their own making, deluding themselves into thinking that they're someone better than they really are, trying to believe that they are good and kind and going to be successful when you know that they won't. Ally is no different; you know that she was the one that invited Scarlet to Frankie's party, even if it had been Frankie's idea to do so. You know that she's no innocent lamb, despite the doe-eyes and the pouty mouth that quivers whenever you try and tell her that you see right through her.
You're pretty sure last time you tried to tell her that she thought you were being romantic. Some I see you kind of bullshit, like you saw her soul, like you understood her.
She wasn't wrong; you do.
You just were trying to tell her that you aren't particularly fond of what you see.
But then she'd kissed you and you'd been bored and drunk and then she'd kissed you again a week later at another party and you'd taken her upstairs and then you realized that you were maybe doing it as a way to punish yourself, tell yourself that you didn't deserve someone better than a girl who spent all her time trying so desperately to make everyone like her that it usually ended up making people hate her. That realization made you balk, down half a bottle of vodka, and then pass out in a field. You'd woken up alone, save for a couple of birds chirping on a rotting log a few feet away, and told yourself you weren't going to go near her again.
Would have been nice to remember she was in your god damned homeroom.
You do what you can to avoid her, skip math next period which you know that she's in, and go to hide out in the art studio during the first half of your lunch period, go back again when classes get out. You should have known that somehow, she'd find you. "St. Cloud," you say when she shows up in the doorway. "Since when do you hang out in the ceramics room."
You keep your voice flat, eyebrows arched.
Apathetic, maybe.
You knew you weren't interested in her, knew it and did it anyway.
You are a boy terrified by the notion that you are wasting your life, that you are throwing away days that should be spent any other way, that your brothers are going to have been right all along and you're going to get to the end of your life and realize that you had all the wrong ideas, loved all the wrong things, gave your attention to every wrong detail. And yet, there's one thing you're most absolutely certain of: Ally St. Cloud is not who you should be spending your social energy on.
And you still did.
Everyone in this fucking school is in a coma of their own making, deluding themselves into thinking that they're someone better than they really are, trying to believe that they are good and kind and going to be successful when you know that they won't. Ally is no different; you know that she was the one that invited Scarlet to Frankie's party, even if it had been Frankie's idea to do so. You know that she's no innocent lamb, despite the doe-eyes and the pouty mouth that quivers whenever you try and tell her that you see right through her.
You're pretty sure last time you tried to tell her that she thought you were being romantic. Some I see you kind of bullshit, like you saw her soul, like you understood her.
She wasn't wrong; you do.
You just were trying to tell her that you aren't particularly fond of what you see.
But then she'd kissed you and you'd been bored and drunk and then she'd kissed you again a week later at another party and you'd taken her upstairs and then you realized that you were maybe doing it as a way to punish yourself, tell yourself that you didn't deserve someone better than a girl who spent all her time trying so desperately to make everyone like her that it usually ended up making people hate her. That realization made you balk, down half a bottle of vodka, and then pass out in a field. You'd woken up alone, save for a couple of birds chirping on a rotting log a few feet away, and told yourself you weren't going to go near her again.
Would have been nice to remember she was in your god damned homeroom.
You do what you can to avoid her, skip math next period which you know that she's in, and go to hide out in the art studio during the first half of your lunch period, go back again when classes get out. You should have known that somehow, she'd find you. "St. Cloud," you say when she shows up in the doorway. "Since when do you hang out in the ceramics room."
You keep your voice flat, eyebrows arched.
Apathetic, maybe.
