Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Worth Pretending

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Love means chemicals, in her mind.

(It was much better.)

The day had started as every other 364 days of the year: her alarm clock had beeped at precisely 6:00 AM, she had taken 6 minutes to get up and stretch in her bed, she had eaten 6 spoons of yogurt along with 6 strawberries and a bowl of cereal (6-grains cereals, thank you very much).

It wasn't that she had an obsessive-compulsive disorder, far from it in fact. She prided herself on her rational mind and constant thinking. She remembered that girl from college who was a bit crazy. Well, it was her roommate. She didn't understand that girl. No one did.

(It was just that she liked order.)

Order in her work, order in her home, order in her head. Not a single part of her life escaped her scrutinizing eye.
If you came into her living room, you would see a pristine couch (even if it's cream), a pristine carpet (even if it's white) and pristine windows. Her work space wasn't any less than toroughly managed. No paperwork piles, no two-months old granola bar wrapping papers. Just a clear, glass surface.

It wasn't that she was only able to work in those conditions. She could still remember her college days, where an eternally undone bed took almost the entire space in her tiny bedroom and day-old dirty dishes were piling up in the sink.

(It was just that she liked having place to walk around.)

The only part of her life she couldn't order was her relationships. Relationships with people were so messy, she thought. You couldn't just swat them away like you do with a fly that came too close to your face

(Well then again, you could but that would bring so much more messy feelings afterwards; she didn't want that).

People were too soft, too invasive; or so she had decided early on in her still small life.

(Because 24 years aren't something to boast about in this world)

So, everytime someone tried to get too close in her space, she went away. Oh, not for too long. She didn't want to pick fights with people. She simply wanted to live her life with no complications. With order. And that meant that messy affairs, bad relationships and love fallouts weren't in her near future. Because she wanted order so bad.

It wasn't that she hated other people's company. No, she could honestly say she didn't. She could even tell you about that time on a college internship where Jimmy from Nanotechnology made her cry with laughter with his jokes about nanotubes. Albeit she wouldn't say that, when he tried to call her the next day, she faked left and told him she was going on vacation with her (fake) boyfriend. She could feel his disappointement all the way through the phone. She was sorry for him.

(It was that she couldn't let people get through to her. See her. She figured they would be scared.)

One day, after work, she decided to let loose. She was tired of putting all this energy into putting order in her life, but only really messing it up. She meant, really. Everything is supposed to change. It's the order of things. And if it was order, well, it worked for her.

So, after sifting through magazines, doing really nothing and zapping channels on the television (who would have thought you could be entertained by non-sense science shows and talking apes?), she brought up the courage to get up and put on some dress (from her rainbow-coded wardrobe) and pull out some really high shoes (that matched perfectly with her teal green dress). She was going clubbing tonight.

(Even though that was messy. Because that, that, was the new her.)

It wasn't that dancing embarrassed her. In fact, she would be the first one to boast her natural abiltiy on the dance floor. She could do with that; it seemed like her bone structure was made for this type of activity. She remembered that time at a college party when she danced four real long dances with seven different guys. Guess she changed partners midways. She couldn't remember that bit well though; she was so inebriated because of those five Long Island Iced Tea she had. That was one of the reasons she didn't drink anymore.

(It was that sweat scent repulsed her. And excited her a little more. There were so many rules to break at night)

Going through that mass of bodies was so hard to do. She first had to go through the bouncer (who let her pass after she flashed her assets; she had never done that since college), then through this. Some hands, male or female, she didn't know, took this as an opportunity to feel her up. She thought about how many gluteus muscles other than hers they had touched that night. She shuddered.

She finally sat on one of the highly uncomfortable metal seats at the bar and watched the dancing nobodies around her. Calling the bartender, she ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Just because. She wanted to get inebriated tonight. Tipsy. Drunk Hammered. Whatever they called it these days.

It wasn't that she didn't want to drink. She really wanted do.

(And that's why she did it. Drink, that is.)

Some stranger caught her eye, sending her a charm smile along the way. Internally, she rolled her eyes. That act didn't work on any girl any more, did it?

(But it did on her)

He got up, sat beside her and whispered sweets nothings into her ear. She giggled. Just for the sake of it.

Maybe was it worth it, to pursue a relationship with someone. Even if it was a complete stranger, in a club, at the wee hours of the morning. Just pretending.

(Until she found the one and her life came back in order)





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback