Maybe it was my hair, maybe my height, maybe it was the fact that my personality was different to anything they'd ever seen before, maybe I'd never know. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore, now that there was Siouxsie.

Siouxsie had moved to my school at the start of my fifth year of apathy. She'd been in three of my classes: English, Art and Religion, all classes that supposedly allowed your originality and piece of mind shone through. She caught my eye on her second day there and something happened, a spark or something, although at the time I just figured that she wasn’t used to seeing boys wearing eyeliner. Her eyes were a colour I'd never known, nearly aquamarine but not quite, as the aquamarine was covered with smudges of the ocean and the sky and pieces of shattered sapphire, almost as though she'd decorated them herself, angry at how unoriginal blue eyes were. Those eyes were framed with thick, defining lines of mauve and a pretty, somewhat girly, sparkly silver dust which fell across her lids. She had a quirky dress sense; a black zip-up hoody, a luminous, yellow pleated skirt and purple knee high socks accompanied by a pair of battered, yellow 'All stars'. I don't remember what our first conversation was about, or why it happened, but the connection was instant. Her brightness contrasted with my blackness and made us strange to look at. I'd always wanted to kiss her. I'd listened to her talk about; how some music made her feel dead inside, how all children should be loved and how all animals are the reincarnations of what we are destined to become, but not really listened at all, just watching her lips thinking about what the moment would be like. 'Just Friends', I've never hated a phrase more, although I'm more than grateful to have her as just that considering how strange and unattractive I am.

Fast forward now to nine months, two weeks and one day later and, looking at us, you'd think nothing had changed. Nevertheless, you'd be wrong because during this time of intimate friendship I've listened carefully, collected and assembled the profile of Siouxsie's perfect person, the person I am going to become. No matter what, I'm leaving this Shaun behind.

"Shaun! Don't be so weird and eat your pizza, come on, it's your favourite!" Siouxsie smiled, her raven-black hair thrown all around her face in beautiful disarray that only I would notice, holding an average sized slice of 'Hawaiian style' pizza up to my mouth. I looked at the pizza right in front of my face and felt my stomach lurch while thinking back to my calorie journals, and my mind raced with images of the possible weight gain from that slice of pizza alone. How could she expect me to intake this much in one day let alone one sitting?

I eyed the pizza, as though it were dangerous, before glancing back at her, dodging her eyes, but staring enviously at how fragile her body appeared. Her curves were so slight and everything was so defined by the presence of her bones. But I didn’t want a woman's body, I was just jealous that she could stay so thin, so fragile with no work; no starving, no calorie counting, no exercise and no purging after meals, she was so lucky. But then I looked back at the pizza and thought of when the day would come when I would be the skinnier one, maybe then she'd be happy with me, maybe then I'd be happy with me, maybe then we'd both be perfect. Low self image something that I believe was beaten into me as a child. I was ugly; at least I think I was, I think I am, aren’t I? God what a ridiculous question, I mean look at all the imperfection; the hormonal imbalance caused acne, the annoyingly big ears, the chubby cheeks and the stubble that I am sick of caring about.

I shook my head and, with a sigh, she dropped the pizza back to the plate letting a sulk alter her features. I wondered how she could stand to look at me even be seen with me. I wondered could she tell how much I loved her and most of all I wondered had she realised how lost I'd gotten in my food obsession and search for self-perfection. I reached a hand over to hers, nervously, and she looked up at me, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, making their green definition melt.

"What?" She murmured. Her voice was barely audible above the buzz of the restaurant around us. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to tell her that I was becoming a better person, becoming better for her, and soon I'd be perfect, for her.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just ain't hungry." I said, louder than she had. She responded instantly, looking as though I'd just insulted her,

"But you're never hungry!" she nearly screamed, making a few disapproving stares come our way. I said nothing, not knowing how to reply. I looked at my feet until her abrupt movement stole my attention. She had risen to her feet and pulled her hood up over her head in one quick rush.

"You know what?" she said curtly, "Forget I ever cared. Starve yourself and die and don’t even consider what it's doing to me!" I watched her eyes as she spoke and felt their anger hit mine in waves of frustration and all the while her green definition melted further down her face, staining her cheeks in faint stripes. She waited moment for e to defend my actions or to try to beg her to stay but the right words to explain it all never came to me, so she turned and stormed out into the rainy night. I could feel people's gazes on me. I didn’t care. They were onlookers, knew nothing and could only speculate incorrectly. I barely found the strength to stand but eventually did, straightened out my long black jacket and jeans and emptied my pockets onto the table, not caring how much money I was throwing away to some underpaid waitress. I took a final glance at that slice of pizza, the icing on the cake, and left the restaurant, deciding I was finally ready to talk and Siouxsie should be the one to hear it.

I arrived at her front door soaked to the skin, the material of my clothes clung to my shrunken frame and my shaggy hair was matted to the sides of my face. I always felt uncomfortable at her house because I knew how her mam felt about 'Confused' boys like me. I breathed a moist sigh as I saw Siouxsie's figure approach the door, through the coloured glass. She opened the door slightly, a moment later, and I suddenly felt so sad for her. Her eyes were puffy and red, still leaking tears, and all the definition had been wiped clean. Her cheeks were rosy and made her face younger. Her ebony hair was shiny, damp and sticking uncomfortably to her bare shoulders. My eyes traveled quickly up and down her body, clothed in a strap top and a pair of jeans, before she had time to say anything. What was I going to say?

"Can I come in?" I asked, trying to buy my thoughts a few extra moments to arrange themselves. Her eyes were filled with a sudden panic and she closed the door a millimetre more, as though trying to hide more of herself.

"I don’t know if you should" she finally mumbled, finding the words. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was hiding. I leaned in closer to the door.

"Please?" I whispered, trying my best to make my eyes scream with sadness. After a few minutes, she nodded, slowly pulled the door open more and, without waiting for me to come in, she turned and ran down the hall to the kitchen. I entered the house with a frown and closed the front door behind me. Her hall was fancy and bright and I felt out of place in it. I walked slowly to the first wooden door to my right and entered her living room. Tow black leather couches dominated the room, as well as a stylish television, and the floor was strewn with magazines and DVD cases. I tried to think of how many times I'd been alone with her in this room before, but they all blurred into that one night I'd always remember, when she'd fallen asleep in my arms and I'd watched her all night. My thoughts were thrown asunder, momentarily, as Siouxsie seemed to materialise beside me at the doorway.

"Hey" I said, my heart skipping beats like someone skipping steps on the stairs.

"Hey" she replied, her eyes still the same, thought the expression she wore was different. She wore different clothes, I noticed almost instantly.

"Why'd you change?" I asked.

"Thought I should dress well in your company" She smiled, as though this entire day hadn't happened. I felt unsure of myself and unsure of whether or not I was actually going to pour out my secrets to her, in a way admitting to myself for the first time that I had a problem. She reached a hand to mine and led me to one of the couches, my wet shoes squeaking on the varnished, wooden floor. Her eyes suddenly boar into mine making me nervous, but I didn’t look away. We both seated ourselves. Where to begin? I wondered.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked a moment later. I had to explain, and it had to be now. I hushed my voice to a whisper and began to talk,

"It's hard to explain. I know there's something wrong, something in my head. There's so much you don’t know. The journals and the thoughts and the hopes that one day I'll be skinnier and better and-"

She cut me off, her face bathed with concern,

"Journals? Skinnier? Whoa, slow down. What sort of journals?"

"Calorie journals" I replied, feeling my cheeks flush with pure embarrassment. I watched an odd expression trespass her features for a moment before her eyes focused on me again.

"So what are you then? Bulimic? Anorexic? Ah, sure it's all the same right? Guys aren't supposed to get this, they're supposed to have a better self image." She spouted out as though reading. I felt even more embarrassed, uncomfortable and completely unsure as to what her knowing all this would do to help the situation. I couldn’t answer her straight away. I had to really think about this because I wasn’t sure anymore. Sure I'd starved myself and thrown up those force-fed meals, did that mean I had a schizophrenic eating disorder? That my brain would trick me into eating, knowing that sometime later I'd acknowledge what I'd done and get rid of it. Suddenly I was angry with her as her questions circulated around my head. How dare she say that all people with eating disorders are the same, stereotyping me like that? Better self image? Ha! I whispered in my head as her eyes watched mine, as though she could anticipate my reply from them.

"I'm everything", I burbled out finally and I saw her thin eyebrows slink together in confusion, "I throw up, starve and exercise for hours on end. It's all the same. You're so right! You know it all!"

Her eyes closed for a second as though she couldn’t bear to look at me, couldn’t believe that her fears were true.

"I'm sorry" I began,

"Don't" She cut me off and, taking both of my hands in hers, pulled me closer to her. I saw tears beginning to grace her cheeks. I didn’t know what words I'd use to explain anything else.

"I love you" She uttered, as though it was something she'd say routinely, and I couldn’t believe my ears.

"Don’t lie!" I said, confusion enveloping my already tousled state of mind.

"I am not" She returned quickly, "I don’t see why you do this Shaun! It scares me, it hurts me… Was it something I did?"

I didn’t know what to say but two random words escaped from my thoughts and came blurting out,

"Your perfection".

Her eyes darkened and I decided that I couldn’t look at them anymore.

I threw my gaze down onto our joined hands and stared at them until I couldn’t tell my hands from hers. And suddenly there was a droplet of blood there.

"I'm bleeding" I mumbled. I came to my senses as she suddenly grabbed her hands from mine. She was the one who was bleeding. Oh no, what had she done?

"You’re bleeding!" I said, looking up at her as thought this conversation was casual. She went to stand up but I stopped her. What did you do? I asked her with my eyes. "So we're sharing secrets now are we?" I said frankly. I saw fresh tears fall to her cheeks as I touched her stained sleeves and pulled them back. My heart sank and it felt like the whole room froze. It wasn’t a botched suicide attempt, just some deep slashes on her left wrist. I didn’t want to asj her any questions. She wasn’t Siouxsie anymore, not the perfect angel I stood next to and tried to fix myself for. No, Siouxsie was perfect and beautiful and had no scars, no secrets and no lies. This wasn’t my Siouxsie. Suddenly my whole world was a different colour, through a different lens, from another angle. I'd made a deal with my body, that if it allowed me to perfect it for Siouxsie, we'd end up getting her in the end. Siouxsie deserved only perfection, no chubby legs, no bad teeth and …no eating disorder. My mind suddenly did a three hundred and sixty-degree spin as I suddenly questioned my own sick logic. How had I convinced myself that I was worth giving to Siouxsie with my imperfect problem with food and my incorrect clothes? Perfection? Yeah right, perfection is an illusion, we’re all clueless, everything we'll ever know is wrong and I'm starved. The real Siouxsie looked up at me through my haze of twisted revelations. All I could see were her cuts, the scars of past cuts underneath those cuts and more underneath that and the thought of all that imperfection permanently engraved into my reason for life made me shiver.

"I'm sorry" she began,

"Don't" I cut her off, my voice low in tone.

And the irony was unbearable as she grabbed a hold of me and forced me to hold her in my arms. She loved me, she was the imperfect one and all the while her imperfect tears of weakness and the blood from her wrist soaked into my jacket. After awhile she pulled away from me and looked at me, trying to smile. And her eyes were just blue, just plain unoriginal blue, and I sat and hated that we were both smeared with cliché teenage pain. And I was suddenly everything I wasn't and more. And it felt as though my problem no longer mattered as she sat there covered in her self-mutilation. All that mattered anymore was that I loved Siouxsie. Was this Siouxsie? I looked at her and smiled,

"I guess I'm not the only one with a problem!"

And her face contorted into confusion as I leaned down and kissed her, my imperfect Siouxsie.