A/N: This is an attempt at writing again. I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with it.


Prologue

She walked into the room and she could feel the stares. She could feel the judgement, the disgust that she could be smiling, could be happy and carrying on so content with herself. It was present in the way that the hairs on her arms prickled, the shiver that slowly went down her spine and the niggling feeling in her head. She could actually feel the whispers and the accusations on her skin, words brushed against her and burrowed into her.

But none of it wasn't really there. None of this was really what was happening. She knew that the room hadn't shrunk in any way when she'd entered it. She knew that the people around her didn't turn in horror as they felt her approach. She knew it was all in her imagination. This is what guilt does to you, it makes you imagine, it makes me paranoid.

Then again sometimes she felt it and it really was there. There was actually someone staring at her wondering how she could have done it, the cogs in their brain visibly turning. It was in the way that their eyebrows shifted, the corner of their mouths twitched and their eyes bore into you. They were always someone that she knew though. Someone that she'd known. When you're the one in the wrong you don't get to keep the friends. They're not your property anymore, they're his. You lose the pretend custody battle. No one wanted you anyway, they're on his side not yours.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, some of them ended up stuck with you. They were always the ones whose stares hurt the most, the ones whose cogs she could hear turning as well as see. They wanted to chastise her, but they wanted to shout at themselves too because they were starting to understand. They felt guilty for it. You're the one that was causing the internal battle they were having. It's your fault again.

She did feel guilty for what she'd done to him. She wasn't one of those people that try to shift the blame. At no point had she said that they'd been growing distant, that it wasn't him it was her, or that it had stemmed from one particular day, one particular moment. It hadn't. They'd been their usual happy selves until nearly the end. It was her and it was him, but there was nothing they could do about it, so why say anything. And it had been one of those gradual things. One of those times when something actually creeps up on you and you're blown away by the force of it making contact, the realisation of it all dawning on you.

The problem was that while one bloomed the other was bound to fizzle away. Eventually.

The story is that there was a girl and there was a boy, and they had fallen in him, that's where the story should've ended. For her, it was a bump in the road, a step in her life. She knew she'd always love him. He was her first love, her first everything. Once upon a time she could remember picturing a future with him. Imagining a wedding, how he would react when she revealed she was pregnant, what he would be like as a dad. But that fairy tale was over now. And although she knew that he'd make the perfect attentive groom and be an amazing and cherished dad, she was content that none of that would be with her.

The fact she felt content made the guilt bubble inside her. Should she be able to say such things when it had been such a short time ago that she'd imagined these things about him? It made her wonder if she was fickle. Maybe that was what those whispering words were always saying; that it was her fickleness that had resulted in his broken heart.

So, as the story goes, there was a girl and there was a boy, and they had fallen in love, madly in love. Then one day the girl left the boy because she'd fallen for another. The boy was heartbroken. He was betrayed. The girl was sorry, but happy. The girl and her new boy had fallen in love, madly in love.

But that isn't how the story really goes. There's always more to it than the tale tells.

Maybe the extended edition would add in that the girl didn't mean to fall in love with the other boy, and that for a while she loved them both. Maybe it would say that the girl had shed tears night after night over what she would do, and that it was the new boy that she'd been able to talk to. Really talk to. That she hadn't strung the boy along, like people so often thought, but that she really didn't know what to do, or who to choose.

Then again, maybe the story wouldn't add any of that, instead it would add that the boy was heartbroken and had cried the nights away wondering how the girl could have done this to him. Maybe it would add that it had physically hurt him to think back to all those times he'd trusted her with the other boy, thinking what the two of them could have been doing – laughing about him maybe?

It made her question what the story was really about. Was it a love story or a break up story? Was she the protagonist or the antagonist? And who was the Prince?

She knew that she's made the right choice, but she wondered if she'd been too slow. Should she have left the boy the moment any feelings towards the other appeared? Should she have ran away from them both, ran away from love, just to avoid the confusion and the stares? She didn't know, she probably never would, she couldn't and wouldn't get an answer from life or from fate, whatever it was that was writing her story.

She accepted that.

She smiled to the room, to its being, and she went on with her life. She went on smiling, knowing that when she went home tonight she'd see her Prince Charming, and no one would be there to judge her then.


A/N: So yeah, let me know what you think...