Waiting. She sat waiting. She was good at waiting; she was also good at a lot of things. But he didn't know that. He called and said he would be there at seven, the green glow of her clock showed 8:42. She wanted to remind herself why she always waited for him, she never knew,but she was always waiting. His dark hair and olive skin reflected in her mind and she tried to shake off the thought of how much she really loved him. She hopped off her bed, glanced out her window, and walked her slender pale legs into the bathroom. She started to wipe off the crimson eye shadow and the mascara off before it ran some more. There in the mirror she stared at what everyone thought was so perfect. She wasnt clingy or jealous like he said she was. She was just waiting for imperfetion to save her, like waiting for snowflakes in Christmas in July. And sadly, it always let her down. But another night alone didn't really bother her, she was use to it now. She to off her skirt, slowly, and left it lying on the cold, tile floor. Shaking, his cold hands was all she could think about. She wanted to know whom his cold hands were touching now. That was all she ever was to him.
She shivered and reached for a sweater. "Liar," she called to herself. She called herself a liar, because to her everyone is a liar and that was her reason for moving on. He lied about truly loving her, just like her mom lied about loving her father, or like a six year old lies about the broken glass in the living room floor. Or that thirteen year old lies about what she drank at a party and that she even went to a party in the first place. Such liars.
Pessimism. It was like money and Bill Gates to her. Which was ironic because on the outside she was probably considered the most happy and self confident person anyone could ever meet. She was like the head cheerleader in those teenage movies, or that dad cheering on his son at his first baseball game. She would make anyone feel better before considering herself. She didn't even know how to make herself feel better. She was such a pessimistic fool for thinking someone like that could love someone like her. "Hah!" she said, "I'm such a fool."
Fool. Someone once called her a "foolish and naive whore." People always seemed to hate her for no reason. Who was she to be so hated? Who was she-- she didn't even know. People always seemed to tell her what she didn't want to hear. She was certainly not a whore, a fool, yes, but sure as hell not a whore.
The bed was soft and warm. It smelt like an attempt of rainforest, or just the Febreeze softener on her sheets. The blue feather comforter was pulled up to her pink and puffy noise. She glanced around the room and realized she forgot to weigh herself. Like a solider ducting for cover from a bomb, she practically leaped into the bathroom. Catching her breath and calming her heart she placed her right foot on the scale, followed by her left. Her weight even distributed and she waited. 89 pounds. She was doing well, gained two whole pounds. She shuffled her slender pale legs out of the bathroom and her stomache growled. Her thoughts went back to the night. The clock now flashed 9:23. He hadn't called yet and it made her nervous. She leaned on the cold windowsill and tried to wait. Did she really expect a phone call from him? Why would he call? She shook her head. And she shook her body, grabbing the sleeves of her sweater. Whose idea was it to take a relationship break? She was regretting it now.
Alexa-- that s her name. That was where he was and what he was doing. Alexa was her name. She wasn't better than her, but she was definitely better than no one. He loved having girls flock to him, like ants on a melted Popsicle stick. He liked Alexa, who wouldn't? She was beautiful and graceful, much like her. But Alexa was loud, on the point of obnoxious. "Do guys just find loud girls attractive?" she thought. But it didn't matter to her. She didn't want to spend another night analyzing ants.