Scars
Title: Scars
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,171
Disclaimer: I own everything.
Notes: Written on a whim while bored at work. Some elements, like tiny facts and stuff like that, are actually true facts based on my real life, but most of the story is fictional. (Ha, I wish it were all true.) I’m not sure about this story; I like it, but I struggled a bit with the ending and I feel that the style isn’t always the same. You decide.
Warning: None.
FictionPress Link: here.
Summary: He knows all of her scars, he knows them by heart, but he especially knows the ones on her heart.
She's upside down when he enters, lying on the floor with her legs on the bed and a book in her hand. It doesn't surprise him anymore; she's known to be found in the weirdest positions, and after so many years he's gotten used to her many quirks, although she still somehow manages to surprise him. She and her friends went book shopping after class again, he guesses from the bag bearing the bookstore logo and the books scattered across the comforter.
Immersed in her reading, she never notices his presence. That's something else that's usual with her; it provided him with quite a few occasions to sneak up on her and scare her. He stands in the doorway as he watches her, reveling in the peace that surrounds her even though he really does love her loud, bubbly, whirlwind-like attitude. Her long blonde hair is loose, flowing along the floorboards, and her blue eyes are slightly narrowed in concentration. She isn't wearing her glasses, he notices, and he knows she's going to be complaining of a headache later. From where he stands he can see the pale, faint line of the scar above her eyebrow, souvenir from the day when, as a child, she tripped down the stairs while holding a glass of water. He knows all of her scars by heart, knows their story. It's not like she's horribly scarred or anything, far from that (she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, he claims everywhere to everyone, although she doesn't quite agree and flushes every time he showers her with compliments); only she's accident prone, and she has the many little cuts, burns and the like as witnesses.
Sometimes when they're alone and in the heat of the moment, he'll kiss the pink line stretching across her left hip, a reminder of the time she slammed into the corner of his desk while trying to escape his evil, tickling hands. Or when they're enjoying a moment of peace together, he'll trace his lips along the faint line on her right wrist, just where her pulse point is, a bite from her cat that never quite disappeared.
He knows all of her scars, he knows them by heart, but he especially knows the ones on her heart. His own heart clenches, as always, as he thinks about how he was responsible for some of the deepest ones, but the feeling is fleeting, quickly fading when he reminds himself that he's more importantly responsible for healing them.
He allows himself a smile as he watches her turn the page and giggle at whatever she's reading. His heart soars; he can't believe he lived without that ray of sunshine for so long - he can't believe he almost missed his chance. He hates to think about it, because now he can't imagine how his life would be if she weren't in it. She's his everything.
They go such a long way back, there's almost too much history between them. They've cared for each other since the very moment they met, something drawing them together and creating a special bond before they even knew what each other's favourite color was. Their beginnings were a bit messy, a definite set up for the years that followed, with them balancing constantly on the line between friendship and something more that they couldn't quite put a finger on. Their relationship was shaky at times, but it represented them well as they struggled to define it but eventually abandoned, identifying it as a ‘special bond’ between them.
Back then, she was one of the people he cared about the most. Back then, he was the one she loved with all her heart, although he didn't find out until a few years later. He hurt her beyond words, those first few years, as he told her about his loves and feelings while she struggled to keep a straight face and play the confidante card to the best of her abilities. Oh, she loved to see him happy, she really did, but she wished he'd be happy with her.
She dated too, in what she later said was an attempt to get over him and move on. But she was constantly holding herself back, even he noticed that, and it usually ended up in one more failed relationship in her book and a few more scars on her heart. Looking back, he doesn't know why he never stopped to question why she could never invest herself in a relationship - it seems so obvious now.
Now he realizes that she had her game face on all that time. She played the game in which she didn't want him and simply was his best friend. She pretended it didn't hurt to see him with someone else. She never let it show that a simple hug left her aching for more, wishing for deeper feelings behind the natural gesture.
It took three years. Three years during which he helped her through depression without never really knowing what was causing it. Three years during which he sometimes got frustrated with her, storming off after saying he was through helping her, every time unknowingly providing the virtual slap in the face that convinced her to get a grip - until she fell again. Every time he was back at her side, picking her up and steadying her, helping her walk until she could do it on her own again. Watching her to make sure she didn't do anything bad.
He can still vividly remember the night she cracked. They were at his house, watching TV, when a music video came on. It was some country song, something about tears and guitars, which he thought was lame but sent her into a crying fit. He'd stared at her for a full minute, wondering what could have sent her over the edge like that. He did the first thing that crossed his mind - he kissed her. And as he did, the lyrics from the song hit him and everything clicked. Then she came clean about her feelings and everything became clear.
The rest is history. Over the next few weeks, confessions trickled in. Once again they struggled to define their relationship, as he finally came to realize just how much he cared about her, more than a best friend could ever care. Things slowly fell into place.
Now two years later, he's healed most of her scars, the ones he caused and the ones others caused. She's happy. They're planning their lives together. But still some scars remain. She'll never admit it, but he knows that she's insecure, that she's scared he's going to leave her.
He doesn't intend to. He loves her too much for that. It took him a long time to realize it, but now that he did, he's not about to let her go.
The radiant grin splitting her face when she drops her book and finally notices him standing there is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,171
Disclaimer: I own everything.
Notes: Written on a whim while bored at work. Some elements, like tiny facts and stuff like that, are actually true facts based on my real life, but most of the story is fictional. (Ha, I wish it were all true.) I’m not sure about this story; I like it, but I struggled a bit with the ending and I feel that the style isn’t always the same. You decide.
Warning: None.
FictionPress Link: here.
Summary: He knows all of her scars, he knows them by heart, but he especially knows the ones on her heart.
She's upside down when he enters, lying on the floor with her legs on the bed and a book in her hand. It doesn't surprise him anymore; she's known to be found in the weirdest positions, and after so many years he's gotten used to her many quirks, although she still somehow manages to surprise him. She and her friends went book shopping after class again, he guesses from the bag bearing the bookstore logo and the books scattered across the comforter.
Immersed in her reading, she never notices his presence. That's something else that's usual with her; it provided him with quite a few occasions to sneak up on her and scare her. He stands in the doorway as he watches her, reveling in the peace that surrounds her even though he really does love her loud, bubbly, whirlwind-like attitude. Her long blonde hair is loose, flowing along the floorboards, and her blue eyes are slightly narrowed in concentration. She isn't wearing her glasses, he notices, and he knows she's going to be complaining of a headache later. From where he stands he can see the pale, faint line of the scar above her eyebrow, souvenir from the day when, as a child, she tripped down the stairs while holding a glass of water. He knows all of her scars by heart, knows their story. It's not like she's horribly scarred or anything, far from that (she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, he claims everywhere to everyone, although she doesn't quite agree and flushes every time he showers her with compliments); only she's accident prone, and she has the many little cuts, burns and the like as witnesses.
Sometimes when they're alone and in the heat of the moment, he'll kiss the pink line stretching across her left hip, a reminder of the time she slammed into the corner of his desk while trying to escape his evil, tickling hands. Or when they're enjoying a moment of peace together, he'll trace his lips along the faint line on her right wrist, just where her pulse point is, a bite from her cat that never quite disappeared.
He knows all of her scars, he knows them by heart, but he especially knows the ones on her heart. His own heart clenches, as always, as he thinks about how he was responsible for some of the deepest ones, but the feeling is fleeting, quickly fading when he reminds himself that he's more importantly responsible for healing them.
He allows himself a smile as he watches her turn the page and giggle at whatever she's reading. His heart soars; he can't believe he lived without that ray of sunshine for so long - he can't believe he almost missed his chance. He hates to think about it, because now he can't imagine how his life would be if she weren't in it. She's his everything.
They go such a long way back, there's almost too much history between them. They've cared for each other since the very moment they met, something drawing them together and creating a special bond before they even knew what each other's favourite color was. Their beginnings were a bit messy, a definite set up for the years that followed, with them balancing constantly on the line between friendship and something more that they couldn't quite put a finger on. Their relationship was shaky at times, but it represented them well as they struggled to define it but eventually abandoned, identifying it as a ‘special bond’ between them.
Back then, she was one of the people he cared about the most. Back then, he was the one she loved with all her heart, although he didn't find out until a few years later. He hurt her beyond words, those first few years, as he told her about his loves and feelings while she struggled to keep a straight face and play the confidante card to the best of her abilities. Oh, she loved to see him happy, she really did, but she wished he'd be happy with her.
She dated too, in what she later said was an attempt to get over him and move on. But she was constantly holding herself back, even he noticed that, and it usually ended up in one more failed relationship in her book and a few more scars on her heart. Looking back, he doesn't know why he never stopped to question why she could never invest herself in a relationship - it seems so obvious now.
Now he realizes that she had her game face on all that time. She played the game in which she didn't want him and simply was his best friend. She pretended it didn't hurt to see him with someone else. She never let it show that a simple hug left her aching for more, wishing for deeper feelings behind the natural gesture.
It took three years. Three years during which he helped her through depression without never really knowing what was causing it. Three years during which he sometimes got frustrated with her, storming off after saying he was through helping her, every time unknowingly providing the virtual slap in the face that convinced her to get a grip - until she fell again. Every time he was back at her side, picking her up and steadying her, helping her walk until she could do it on her own again. Watching her to make sure she didn't do anything bad.
He can still vividly remember the night she cracked. They were at his house, watching TV, when a music video came on. It was some country song, something about tears and guitars, which he thought was lame but sent her into a crying fit. He'd stared at her for a full minute, wondering what could have sent her over the edge like that. He did the first thing that crossed his mind - he kissed her. And as he did, the lyrics from the song hit him and everything clicked. Then she came clean about her feelings and everything became clear.
The rest is history. Over the next few weeks, confessions trickled in. Once again they struggled to define their relationship, as he finally came to realize just how much he cared about her, more than a best friend could ever care. Things slowly fell into place.
Now two years later, he's healed most of her scars, the ones he caused and the ones others caused. She's happy. They're planning their lives together. But still some scars remain. She'll never admit it, but he knows that she's insecure, that she's scared he's going to leave her.
He doesn't intend to. He loves her too much for that. It took him a long time to realize it, but now that he did, he's not about to let her go.
The radiant grin splitting her face when she drops her book and finally notices him standing there is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.