Far From Prince Charming

By LovelyMarshmallowQueen

It was cold, winter’s invisible fingers tickled against our skin. I remember that the sky was a messy array of grays and whites that day. The smell of your sweat lingered on my nose, like some dying memory, and I tried to sniff the air to keep the scent on my nostril. You looked over at me, your eyes too blue, too cold, and it was as if something was blooming in you. I smelled your sweat again and then warmth, only for me, wrapped me up. I still felt the cold but this layer of mild heat emitted from you and poured into my sweater and my tiny frame. I followed you amongst the drab grass, wondering if I should turn back and sprint towards our brick prison—our school.

‘This tall boy with Siberian Husky-eyes is mine, wow’ my naive thoughts made me glow secretly and it showed in my eyes—starry and vulnerable. You glanced at me and then you walked over to a bunch of your rowdy friends who cackled with laughter at some stupid jokes. They looked up at you, the ghosts of their smiles still creasing their faces. One of them used to be in my sixth grade class but his hair was unkempt and when he smiled it never reached his livid eyes. They talked to you about weed and you smiled at me, yet you remained away from me, and I fidgeted nervously.

I didn’t want to be near them.

You waved to them and then told me to come with you so I smiled at this. I’d be alone with you, I silently rejoiced at this revelation, and that thought remained with me for the rest of the day. We sat on one of the cool metal bleachers, not really watching the old kids warm up for their soccer game on the field. The day looked like it was gloomy, like the sky and the grass were grieving for some foreseen catastrophe. I kept my eyes trained on the game, my palms covered in a thin film of wetness, and my lips forming into its natural pout.

Then, your finger captured my chin, and oh wow, your lips were warm and soft. You felt wonderful, like a cup of warm cocoa on a cold day, and I relished in the feeling. I felt something wonderful spread in my belly and it dusted my cheeks with a faint pinkness. My face was warm and I kissed you back a minute after you’d made your move on me, I think I did it out of my nervousness. After that, we tried conversing which put me more at ease but I silently knew that we had nothing in common.

You tried telling me about a scene in that movie, “Goodfellas” or something like that and I just nodded cutely even though I was inwardly puzzled. You put your arm around me, trying to show me how that one character made some dark joke to his girlfriend while cuddling with her. Couldn’t you tell from my forced laugh that I didn’t get it, or maybe you were just too slow to tell?

You were always such an interesting person, you lied too well, and you always managed to find a way to make your girlfriends bend. With me, it was simple and cliché things.

“You’re beautiful,” you said and you smiled at me as genuinely as you could.

“Don’t say that, stop lying,” my voice was a fragile fluttering thing, like a weightless piece of falling paper.

“You are. I mean it.” You emphasized, “mean” and I looked at you disbelievingly. It wasn’t everyday that a guy pulled that line out of his mouth for me.

“You mean it?” I shrank into a small insignificant thing at that moment. My nervousness was so apparent, that I knew that you noticed it. I secretly feared you. I feared the amount of control you had over “you and me”.

“Yes, would I lie to you?” You looked at me, searching my large round eyes for an answer and I gaped. I paused and shook my head because I knew that that’s what you expected me to say. Me, a naive bookish girl, with the crazy rebellious boy, what a sight! I had no sliver of confidence with you, it was so awkward for me to look back and notice how painfully palpable it was.

“No.” I said five minutes after your question.

“Alright then,” You studied me for a second before taking my glasses off and putting them on yourself. I looked at you and I tried to stifle my giggles but I couldn’t suppress it. Your hair was short then, you had cut it to my own dismay, and the glasses didn’t fit you. Besides they were too small for your round face and they were mine. I made a fib and said it looked good on you, but the part about you resembling Harry Potter ... that was true.

Seven minutes later ...you somehow lent me your hoodie, not out of compassion I later learned, but out of forced sympathy. I accepted it willingly and put it on over my sweater, it smelled like you—the faint scent of mustiness, warmth, and regular cologne.

“Whoa, I’ve never had any of my other girlfriends wear my stuff before. You look hot.”

“Thank you.” I beamed sheepishly, oblivious to your previous comment. Sitting down, I subconsciously cuddled up next to you, loving your warmth. We sat there, the sky still looking petulantly at us with solemn clouds that drifted on ominously. I have to admit that looking back on retrospect, the position I was in was rather uncomfortable. I had to lean over halfway just to reach you and settle into your lap. You kissed my strands of hair that to me was dry and washed out, compared to your fluffy thick russet tendrils.

I ruffled your hair, mussing it up with one hand, out of curiosity. My eyes lit up briefly then and I smiled, feeling proud that I picked you over the dozens of other boys at our school.

“Your hair’s so pretty.”

“Thanks.” You smiled but it looked almost rueful, almost sad, or maybe that was just my eyes tricking me.

Ten minutes later, I unwittingly gave you permission to fondle me and you placed your fingers on that secret slick spot between my thighs. Your fingers memorized the swell of my bosom and left tingling cold sensations there. I regretted letting you do that afterwards. I was completely enamored then however, so I touched the area where your jeans rose near your zipper. You gasped and I gasped but I was shocked to inwardly feel more distance than closeness in that moment. My gasps were forced and unnatural; they were only made to please you. I realized that I was only meant to serve you, to satiate my own thirst for feeling wanted, and that was all.

I remember you shoving your tongue forcefully between my barely parted lips. You licked the column of my throat and sucked there. You said that you wondered if you could give me a hickey and I felt like slapping you then. I felt this swirling in my belly when I went home and remembered that. I remembered the hotness of your breath and the putrid smell of barbecue sauce and overcooked chicken nuggets. Cafeteria food didn’t do wonders for anyone’s breath and I quietly wished that you could have carried mints with you.

You slobbered my mouth with your sticky saliva repeatedly and I forced down bile, all thoughts of romanticism were torn from my mind. My lips were cold and sticky. I felt sore after your biting kisses. You even pressed your thumb nail into the small crease of my bottom lip. You claimed, when I asked you why you did that, that you weren’t sure why. The change from gentleness to lust was almost instantaneous and I secretly wondered that, had we been somewhere private, would you have raped me?

What a thought ... right?

My friends, the ones I had lied to, the ones I had replaced with fantasies and silly images of you, were probably annoyed at me. I went into the building, swaying like a tree in the wind, and I found her there. She was angry at me for lying to her about attending an after-school club when I really intended to meet you. The realization of what I had done rippled through me and cut into me like a knife. I let out my frustrations in choked sobs and hot tears.

“Lara...Lara! Lara, what’s wrong? L-Lara!” I called her repeatedly and I didn’t realize that you stood there watching me with a worried look on your face. I felt confused and frustrated and I needed my damn jacket because it was cold out there. I needed Sarah to tell me everything would be alright and I needed her to help me ditch you.

“Don’t touch me, you should be ashamed of yourself,” I had never heard such contempt in her voice. I was shocked and I felt like I had burned her from gently touching her arm. Backing away, I followed you, dazed, as you tried to persuade your bus driver to take me home. I did end up getting my jacket and during that time you kissed me again near some girl. I never liked public displays of affection ever since, by the way.

Anyway, after hugging you, after lending you my phone to call your mom so she could pick me up, I was finally driven home by Lara’s dad. I later learned that he spotted me kissing you since he was parked near us. Funny how we try to hide things, how we try to defy adults, and we still get caught anyway. I went home and Lara phoned me. I never told her how we’d touched and I’d felt nothing, no love, no warmth, like I did with him (although I’d never actually touched him). She forgave me, saying how I was like her cousin, and how it wasn’t completely my fault for behaving the way I did.

My irrationality was only born from feeling so much giddiness and warmth for you.

Two days after that, in the weakly lit hallway where your paisley green locker was, I waited for you. I’d told my friends about what we’d done in an air of mixed feelings: confidence, happiness, nervousness and regret. You had told me to come with you and that you needed to talk.

“We need to talk,” your eyes were darker than they’d been on that cloudy Tuesday. I softly uttered, “okay” and followed you to your locker. I placed my hand on my hip, steadying myself from falling, because I already knew what you’d say.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you yesterday.” There was warmth in your voice but it was forced and I felt as if someone had taken the blindfolds from my eyes. You were naked to me now. You were exposed. All of that mushiness you’d spewed about me from two days ago was crap. You used me. You were telling me that you used me.

“Oh, really?” I wanted to laugh bitterly and smack you and yell at you. I remained calm though, feeling as if the after effect of that would hurt you more. Now, I really don’t think my emotions had an effect on you that day.

“Yes and I’ve been thinking that ...,” you paused here for dramatic effect; you were always such a terrible actor, “...that this isn’t going to work out.” Your words didn’t stun me as much at that exact moment, my look of concern was replaced with coldness.

“Oh, okay, I was thinking the same thing.” I replied emotionless and I feigned a look of cheerfulness. It shocked you a bit, your eyes widened, and the light caught the blueness of your irises. You composed yourself again and patted me harshly on the back, like you’d probably do with a friend of yours. I wasn’t your friend though and I wasn’t your girlfriend.

“Yeah well, it was fun while it lasted right?”

“Oh sure,” I sneered sarcastically. I really should have shouted at you and left you speechless. I should have verbally pounded you into the ground.

“Well can we be friends at least?”

Your question made me feel further contempt for you.

“No.”

“Can I at least have a hug?”

“Sure, whatever,” I hesitantly agreed and gave you a quick hug. There was just coldness there. You shooed me off to class and it was only when I was changing for Dance class that I broke down. I cried when I passed you in the hallway, I cried in Dance class, and I cried for four more periods after that. You still disgust me and I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that an annoyingly conniving boy like you took my first kiss.

However, I learned to never be hasty, I learned to analyze people, and I learned to love myself. You taught me those things and looking back in retrospect, I don’t regret learning it from you. I regret the way I had to learn it though. However, it honestly could have been worse. We could have had sex, and I could have ended up having an abortion if I had gotten pregnant as a result. I didn’t do any of those aforementioned things though but I did learn to stay away from you as well.

So thanks, in a way, for teaching me all of those things. I hope some brainless girl picks you up so you can marry her and lead a semi-miserable life together.