Short Story -- Promises, Promises
Sarah and I made a pact to start writing for an hour a day, to get into the habit of writing SOMETHING everyday all over again. This morning, my mind's been a little preoccupied with...other things, so I ended up writing several pieces for writerverse. This is one of them -- and, well, all of them involve the thing with which my mind is preoccupied, and so...
Sean, if you want proof that your writing style is rubbing off on me a bit, this is a good piece to see that happening in. =p
She sits on her couch, netbook in her lap and her eyes focused tirelessly on the screen. Incubus’s “Promises, Promises,” plays quietly in the background, just loud enough for her to hear, just loud enough for her to mouth the words as she types, as she closes her eyes and sighs.
This girl? She is me, and I know what she’s going through.
There’s a boy. There’s always a boy. A boy that walks in and says all the right things, at all the right times. A boy who has no qualms flirting with her, has offered her an ear when she needs to vent, advice when she needs advice -- and sometimes, even when she thinks she doesn’t need it, but really does.
This boy is far away. She only knows what he looks like thanks to pictures on facebook. She only know what he sounds like, because he took sixty seconds out of his work day to call her after she simply mentioned the fact she wanted to hear his voice.
And this boy -- he’s told her not to fall for him. That he’s bad news, that he’s not someone she should fall in love with. And when he said this, she almost typed back, “Too late.”
Maybe she should have said that instead of asking him why she shouldn’t. She did, at least, tell him it might not be that simple. And that if she knew why she shouldn’t fall for him, it might just stop the direction her heart is heading in.
His response? “You’ll get hurt!” Exclamation point and all, a simple statement, one she was already aware of and really -- it’s so easy for her to get hurt. She’s been hurt for the past year, longer than that, really, and now -- now she feels that she’s healed. That she’s healthy. That her heart can take another risk.
She had asked him where she stood with him, before this conversation -- in an email, of course, because she knew she couldn’t quite handle hearing an answer immediately, and yet she still wants an immediate answer. He said he would email her back, and he will, she knows he will. He’s always been one to keep his word, always been honest with her and she has a feeling she knows which conceptions she had were wrong, and which ones might be right, and she can -- but also can’t -- wait to hear his explanations.
Being this vulnerable, it’s tough. She’s only opened herself like this to one other person, and they brought out the worst in her.
She thinks he might be able to bring out the best.
A risk. She knows it’s a risk, she knows it will be tough. Distance is a bitch, after all, and there’s lots of it between them. But her heart wants this. Her mind’s conceded that maybe, just maybe she isn’t as broken as she once thought, if she could feel this strongly for a boy she only really started talking to a few months ago. For a boy she’s never physically met.
She already knew she could get hurt. Probably will get hurt. After all, relationships aren’t easy, they never are. And if he thinks she wants him to promise her the world -- well, she doesn’t. She just wants one chance, to see how things will go, to make a mistake or two, to learn a thing or two. To experience those mistakes, those lessons with him.
She doesn’t want him to promise her anything. Not even his heart.
But if he’s willing to give her some of his time, some of his attention, some of the space inside his heart, well -- she’s willing to brave anything to have them, even if the time is short, his attention fleeting, and the space a hair too small.
Because having those things, no matter how long she has them for, will be worth the eventual pain and heartache. So she types a facebook status, one she doesn’t intend to post, one directed at him, and him alone:
So promise me one thing, would you? Just don’t ever make me promises... No promises.
Sean, if you want proof that your writing style is rubbing off on me a bit, this is a good piece to see that happening in. =p
She sits on her couch, netbook in her lap and her eyes focused tirelessly on the screen. Incubus’s “Promises, Promises,” plays quietly in the background, just loud enough for her to hear, just loud enough for her to mouth the words as she types, as she closes her eyes and sighs.
This girl? She is me, and I know what she’s going through.
There’s a boy. There’s always a boy. A boy that walks in and says all the right things, at all the right times. A boy who has no qualms flirting with her, has offered her an ear when she needs to vent, advice when she needs advice -- and sometimes, even when she thinks she doesn’t need it, but really does.
This boy is far away. She only knows what he looks like thanks to pictures on facebook. She only know what he sounds like, because he took sixty seconds out of his work day to call her after she simply mentioned the fact she wanted to hear his voice.
And this boy -- he’s told her not to fall for him. That he’s bad news, that he’s not someone she should fall in love with. And when he said this, she almost typed back, “Too late.”
Maybe she should have said that instead of asking him why she shouldn’t. She did, at least, tell him it might not be that simple. And that if she knew why she shouldn’t fall for him, it might just stop the direction her heart is heading in.
His response? “You’ll get hurt!” Exclamation point and all, a simple statement, one she was already aware of and really -- it’s so easy for her to get hurt. She’s been hurt for the past year, longer than that, really, and now -- now she feels that she’s healed. That she’s healthy. That her heart can take another risk.
She had asked him where she stood with him, before this conversation -- in an email, of course, because she knew she couldn’t quite handle hearing an answer immediately, and yet she still wants an immediate answer. He said he would email her back, and he will, she knows he will. He’s always been one to keep his word, always been honest with her and she has a feeling she knows which conceptions she had were wrong, and which ones might be right, and she can -- but also can’t -- wait to hear his explanations.
Being this vulnerable, it’s tough. She’s only opened herself like this to one other person, and they brought out the worst in her.
She thinks he might be able to bring out the best.
A risk. She knows it’s a risk, she knows it will be tough. Distance is a bitch, after all, and there’s lots of it between them. But her heart wants this. Her mind’s conceded that maybe, just maybe she isn’t as broken as she once thought, if she could feel this strongly for a boy she only really started talking to a few months ago. For a boy she’s never physically met.
She already knew she could get hurt. Probably will get hurt. After all, relationships aren’t easy, they never are. And if he thinks she wants him to promise her the world -- well, she doesn’t. She just wants one chance, to see how things will go, to make a mistake or two, to learn a thing or two. To experience those mistakes, those lessons with him.
She doesn’t want him to promise her anything. Not even his heart.
But if he’s willing to give her some of his time, some of his attention, some of the space inside his heart, well -- she’s willing to brave anything to have them, even if the time is short, his attention fleeting, and the space a hair too small.
Because having those things, no matter how long she has them for, will be worth the eventual pain and heartache. So she types a facebook status, one she doesn’t intend to post, one directed at him, and him alone:
So promise me one thing, would you? Just don’t ever make me promises... No promises.