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already_lostDear Diary,
How do you know if someone is the one?
I don't think I used to believe in all that. I'm sure I did, once, a long time ago. Before him, before BOB, before everything. When I still liked ponies and pink and thought a tiara was the height of fashion. When I had a little innocence left in me. Diary, I don't feel very innocent anymore, but sometimes... Sometimes he makes me feel like that's okay. I don't even have to hide from him, I don't have to pretend like I'm something I'm not. I don't even think he wants anything from me.
Maybe I want him to want something from me. Maybe I'm done with casual. But how am I supposed to talk about those kinds of things?
Why are we both so stupid???
Laura underlined that final word three times, her pen digging deep into the paper of her journal, a habit she still hadn't completely outgrown. It made her feel like a little girl, made her think of things she'd rather not, but it was always better for her to get her thoughts out onto the page, than to keep them all bottled up.
With an angry groan, she tossed her pen aside, her nails tapping against the scarred top of her desk, a cheap, rickety thing that had been there when she'd moved in. Shoving her journal into the top drawer, no longer feeling like she had to hide it so carefully, Laura stood, pausing indecisively in the middle of her room for a long moment before marching over to her closet. She dressed quickly, a burgundy dress and a pair of black tights with an oversized sweater thrown over the top. Her hair had grown out again, falling loose from the messy bun she pulled it into. Pausing in front of a mirror, she grimaced. She was used to dressing well for her job, but she felt like she'd never be fashionable.
It shouldn't have mattered. Chuck had seen her ugly cry, he'd seen her vomiting all over herself, he'd seen her first thing in the morning and after a long, exhausting shift. But in that moment, she hated how she looked, and was convinced that he would hate it, too.
Her eyes watering, she blotted at them with a tissue, sniffling as she put on a little mascara and some lipstick to match her dress. With one last disgusted look in the mirror, her eyes never quite meeting her own in the reflection.
Catching a cab, she texted him on the way, her stomach in knots by the time the car pulled up outside his apartment. On her way up to his apartment, she almost fled more than once, seeing herself rushing down the stairs and out onto the street and just... disappearing.
But instead, she knocked on his door, her stomach fluttering as she heard the sound of his footsteps on the other side.
How do you know if someone is the one?
I don't think I used to believe in all that. I'm sure I did, once, a long time ago. Before him, before BOB, before everything. When I still liked ponies and pink and thought a tiara was the height of fashion. When I had a little innocence left in me. Diary, I don't feel very innocent anymore, but sometimes... Sometimes he makes me feel like that's okay. I don't even have to hide from him, I don't have to pretend like I'm something I'm not. I don't even think he wants anything from me.
Maybe I want him to want something from me. Maybe I'm done with casual. But how am I supposed to talk about those kinds of things?
Why are we both so stupid???
Laura underlined that final word three times, her pen digging deep into the paper of her journal, a habit she still hadn't completely outgrown. It made her feel like a little girl, made her think of things she'd rather not, but it was always better for her to get her thoughts out onto the page, than to keep them all bottled up.
With an angry groan, she tossed her pen aside, her nails tapping against the scarred top of her desk, a cheap, rickety thing that had been there when she'd moved in. Shoving her journal into the top drawer, no longer feeling like she had to hide it so carefully, Laura stood, pausing indecisively in the middle of her room for a long moment before marching over to her closet. She dressed quickly, a burgundy dress and a pair of black tights with an oversized sweater thrown over the top. Her hair had grown out again, falling loose from the messy bun she pulled it into. Pausing in front of a mirror, she grimaced. She was used to dressing well for her job, but she felt like she'd never be fashionable.
It shouldn't have mattered. Chuck had seen her ugly cry, he'd seen her vomiting all over herself, he'd seen her first thing in the morning and after a long, exhausting shift. But in that moment, she hated how she looked, and was convinced that he would hate it, too.
Her eyes watering, she blotted at them with a tissue, sniffling as she put on a little mascara and some lipstick to match her dress. With one last disgusted look in the mirror, her eyes never quite meeting her own in the reflection.
Catching a cab, she texted him on the way, her stomach in knots by the time the car pulled up outside his apartment. On her way up to his apartment, she almost fled more than once, seeing herself rushing down the stairs and out onto the street and just... disappearing.
But instead, she knocked on his door, her stomach fluttering as she heard the sound of his footsteps on the other side.
