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Beat Up Chuck Taylors

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Across the room, he looked at her. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned the page in her textbook. She was beautiful.

I have to make her mine, he thought, watching as she laughed at something her friend had said to her. It had to be one of the best things he’d ever seen.

The bell rang and she and her friend got up to leave. He meant to say something, but he never got the chance. He was too busy wondering how someone could make something as simple as jeans, a t-shirt, and beat up Chuck Taylors look so good.

Later that day, he got another chance. He was on his way to the bathroom and she crossed his path. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only sound that came out was somewhere between a squeak and a groan. She gave him a strange look and forced a smile before tossing her hair over her shoulder and proceeding down the hall.

Mortified, he tried to avoid her for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he ran right into her on the way to lunch. He didn’t trust his words, so he just bent down to help her pick up her stuff. He caught sight of his name in an open notebook and his heart beat furiously. Looking down, he realized it was a note between her and her friend, saying how ugly and weird he was. He felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. She looked up just in time to see the hurt in his eyes.

She called his name as he ran off, but he refused to hear her. He just ran and ran, not caring who or what he ran into. He. Just. Ran. As he finally made it to his front door, rain began to fall. He didn’t care. It masked the tears running down his face.

When he made it to his room, all he could do was turn on the saddest music he had and cry. He cried. And cried. And cried. The pain never seemed to go away, no matter how long and hard he cried.

He snuck down to the kitchen. The house was asleep. He reached into the drawer where utensils were kept, pulling out a steak knife. This was all it would take. All the pain would go away. He stood over the sink and dragged the cool metal over the skin of his left wrist.

There was a soft knock at the door. He spun around and tiptoed to answer it. It was her, soaking wet from the rain. She didn’t say a word. Her eyes said it all, shiny with tears. She cared about him. A lot. She had just said those things to her friend because it’s what she wanted to hear. She didn’t care what anybody else thought. She wanted him to be hers forever.

For the first time, she saw the knife in one hand and the blood that trickled slowly down his wrist. She let out a small gasp. She looked into the depths of his eyes and realized how dead they were. She went inside and dragged him with her to the kitchen. First, she took the knife, rinsing and drying it. She asked him where a first aid kit was and he pointed to a small cupboard.

She worked quickly, cleansing the single cut and putting a band aid across it. When she was finished, she kissed it. In that kiss was a promise. A promise that she would never hurt him, ever again.

Ten years later, she kept her promise. It was their wedding day. The scar from that single cut was long gone, a secret between the two. The dead look in his eyes had long been replaced by joyful light. She had given him that. The happiness he longed for. He looked in the mirror and fixed his tie one more time before going out for the ceremony. Not long after, his beautiful bride walked down the aisle. He gave her the biggest smile he could muster up. She returned it with a smirk and a small wink, lifting her long dress just slightly. He had to refrain from laughter, for under her beautiful wedding gown were her beat up Chuck Taylors.





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