The brick used to talk to her. Used to tell her sweet things, ask her sweet questions. They grew closer together. He’d stitch her back up whenever she fell apart. And she thanked him in such a way that pleased him very much.
How could he do this?
She cries now, remembering all the good things, but thinking mostly of the bad.
She’s not the only one. There are others, hundreds.
Six-hundred ninety-six friends on facebook.
Out of that number, three-hundred twenty-two are girls.
Scrolling down the list of profile pictures, seeing those faces.
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, that’s a slu+, pretty, pretty, ugly, pretty, pretty, etc.
She notices he comments on pictures; Gorgeous. Wow, nice. Pretty. Beautiful. Cutie ;).
Not ONE of those said to her by him.
He is not a brick. She isn’t that psycho. It’s his nickname, for his facial expressions are blank, he doesn’t understand jokes, and he’s really quiet. He’s a brick. Tough, hard, simple.
She wishes she could just grab something harder than him and smash-smash-smash-smash.
More sobs, coming from deep within her heart.
Why? Why must you do this?
He texts her nearly everyday, but the texts just aren't the same. Conversations are shorter, and dry. She doesn't smile when she reads them anymore, and she doesn't run to her phone at the sound of her ringtone. Married to some chick on Facebook, isn't even as pretty as her.
That's what The Brick is all about. He cares A LOT about looks. Always obsessing about it, about himself, wondering what others think of him all the time. And he only talks to "pretty" girls, Which is why he talked to her. But now she wonders.
Wonders if he'll text her back.
Wonders if he'll keep his promises.
Wonders if he ever even cared.
Then the sobs come back and strangle her.