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Glass Crystals: Part I
“But you do this all the time,” my best friend Jordan said. She was concerned for me; I could hear it in her voice. She was right. It wasn’t the first time this happened.
“It’s not my fault,” I told her. Jordan raised an eyebrow at me, her green eyes flashed skepticism. Although I hated to admit it, I wasn’t completely blameless. Still, I wasn’t the only one guilty. He kissed me out of nowhere. Still, I could have changed what happened afterwards. But I didn’t. I felt remorse in my actions, and it wasn’t the first time I did this either. In fact, (by Jordan’s count) this was probably the 10th time I hooked up with my ex, Isaac Freshmore. It’s been two years since we broke up, but I couldn’t forget our relationship, what we had. Our relationship was perfection, and when things didn’t work out, I was devastated, but I was willing to sacrifice my dignity to feel that closeness with Isaac.
“Honey, I know you were in love with him. But this isn’t healthy. You have to let it go. I’m worried for you,” Jordan whispered softly as she put her hand on mine. I pulled my hand away from her. “First of all, I was never in love with him.” I said sharply.
“Love is a silly and stupid thing that only exists in fairytales and are the figment of imagination of pathetic, helpless souls,” I continued in a bitter tone. I didn’t mean to sound bitter, but that’s what I believed and what I learned from my mother.
My mother, who had a beautiful, flawless face. My mother, who was like a glass statue, with a heart that was also like glass. Cold and fragile, it wasn’t beautiful like a crystal, but people could be easily deceived. My mother left when I was five, leaving my dad, my little brother and I all alone. My dad begged her not to leave, told her he could change, told her to stay for my brother and me, but all those reasons weren’t sufficient for my mother to stay. So she packed up her bags, leaving nothing for us to remember her by except for a single photo of her that my dad hid. My mother didn’t like to be photographed. Maybe she was afraid that a photo will capture her true self, but my dad, who was a photographer, managed to sneak a couple pictures of her. In every photo she was strikingly beautiful. With skin as pale as snow, icy blue eyes, and hair spun of gold. Her face was carved from glass. Perfect from every angle, but without any expression, without life. She hardly smiled, cried, laughed, or even become angry. She was still, staring off into space. Although there were dozens of pictures of her in my parents’ bedroom when my mother was still with us, she burned them before she left, along with every family photo we had. I wasn’t sure why at the time, but I remember my dad’s beautiful photographs being scorched and eaten alive by the hungry fire. My mother didn’t want us to remember her. There would be too much pain and emotional scars conflicted onto my brother and me if we remembered her. My dad, however, failed to recognize this, and managed to save one picture of her. It was the only picture he had of her smiling. She wasn’t grinning ear to ear in the picture, but instead carried the mysterious smile of Mona Lisa. I don’t know where the photo is now, but I didn’t really care.
“Jenna. You’re spacing out again,” Jordan’s voice called, interrupting my thoughts.
“Huh? Yeah,” I replied, a bit dazed.
“So, what are you going to do about Isaac?” Jordan asked, twisting her red curls around her finger. “Nothing” I said as I took a sip of my drink. There’s really no point of doing anything. It’s not like I can go up to him and tell him off. It wasn’t like I could go up to him and tell him I wanted to get back together. In fact, I didn’t even want him back. But why did I crave and crumble under every kiss, every touch, and every word that he whispered in his low voice that didn’t even mean anything? Why did I find myself looking for him in the cafeteria, at the park, everywhere I went? Why did I yearn for him even though every love, affection and tenderness he displayed towards me was just lies? “You’re not going to do anything?” Jordan asked, her green eyes growing wide in shock.
“Yep. Nothing. Nada,” I replied nonchalantly.
“So you’re going to let him take advantage of you each time? You’re just going to fall for his bulls***? You’re not going to do anything for yourself?” Jordan asked. Her voice was growing higher with each word with anger.
“Jordan. Look at reality. There’s nothing to do. I can’t go up to him and say what a complete a**h*** he is. Even if I did, why is he considered an a**h***? I’m the one that gave in. It takes two to tango,” I replied harshly.
I was really sick of this. Sick of Jordan lecturing me every time I hooked up with Isaac. Sick of letting myself fall for Isaac’s bulls*** over and over again. “Speaking of the devil,” Jordan said, her eyes rolling. I looked up. There he was, in all perfection and in all beauty. His dark and wavy hair that once was brushing his shoulders was cropped just below his ears. His brown eyes had a glint of mischief in them. Beside him were his usual crew: Alex, Jamie, Luke and Michael. When I was dating Isaac, I referred them as “the wolf pack” because they went everywhere together. My attention quickly shifted to Isaac, who was talking to Sarah Hamilton. Sarah and Isaac were close friends, and even if Isaac was dating me, Sarah always came first. This face wouldn’t have bothered me so much if Sarah was less flirty, or less pretty. Sarah had a cute face, and with a frame to match. She had dark wavy hair that was always shiny and soft, her eyes were an unusual grey, almost silver. She had boys falling for her all over the place, and although I disliked her, I couldn’t find a legitimate reason why. It wasn’t like she was a b****, she was actually really sweet, and everyone loved her. But I didn’t. I saw Sarah put her hands on Isaac’s arm gently, and Isaac showing that goofy grin of his to her. I felt my face getting hot, and anger slowly creeping behind my neck. What was I feeling? Why was I feeling this way? No. No. I would not let physical involvement with Isaac turn into emotional involvement.
“Let’s go.” I said, grabbing my coat off my chair, and rushed to the door.
“Wait. Where are you going? I’m not done my drink yet!” Jordan said, hurrying to catch up with me. I really couldn’t deal with Isaac right now. I really couldn’t deal with being emotionally attached to him. I stood outside the café, and Jordan came up behind me.
“What was that all about? Are you all right?” she asked, panting. I stood there in silence.
Soon, my phone vibrated. A new text. I opened the message: it was from Isaac. “Hey. Saw u at the cafe. Wanna meet up l8er?” Jordan peered over my shoulder, asking, “Who’s the text from?” I quickly closed my phone, and shoved it in my pocket. I quickly replied, “Uhhhh. I-i-it’s from my dad. He wants me to c-come home now.” Jordan gave me a suspicious look, “I-I’m going to go. Okay? I’ll call you later.” I stammered as I quickly walked to the way to my house. On the way, I opened up my phone again, pressed ‘reply’ to Isaac’s text, and typed in a single word: yes.