The Girl He Loved

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
He loved her, everything about her, for all the reasons that the others didn't. As they cried over her death, he cried because he caused it.

Submitted: June 30, 2017

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Submitted: June 30, 2017



In his eyes, she was absolutely beautiful, but he didn’t see her the way everyone else did. They liked how her hips moved when she walked out of the classroom and how her butt looked in her favorite, ripped jeans. He liked the way her whole body laughed when she heard something funny, and how her dimples got deeper the more she smiled. He loved the way she would say his name in between gasps from breath and fits of laughter after he told her one of his stupid jokes.

He knew that she was so much more than just that pretty face that the school thought they knew so well. He had sat in the desks in front of her for three years, in almost all of their classes. He knew so much about her, more that he would have liked to admit. He had memorized the color of her eyes, and could pick out the perfect shade of green on the wall of paint swatches while his mom chose a new color for her bedroom. He knew that she got amazing grades, much better than he could ever get. He also knew that she liked to keep that to herself, but he was always able to pick out that secret, pleased smile she gave herself when she got another perfect grade.

But he also knew how insecure she was. He knew that for some reason, she had always hated her laugh, and she stride to stifle it, but was almost always unsuccessful, and that made him happy because he loved the sound of her laugh.  He could remember the way that she would hold her face in her hands, hiding all the parts of her face that she hated because she didn’t know how truly stunning she was. She didn’t realize how many people stared at her, the boys wanting to be with her, the girls wanting to be her. She walked through the halls, keeping her eyes straight ahead, not lifting them to meet her classmates passing by her.

When he laid in his bed that night after the phone call, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, her charming smile that took over her entire face and her warm eyes forever imprinted into his brain. He thought about how it would have felt to hold her soft hands in his own, or how her lips would feel under his as his hand rested lightly on the back of her neck, under her silky hair. While tears rolled freely down his face and dripped onto his chest, he thought about the date he almost asked her out on, but asked for the notes from class at the last minute, scared of her rejection.

So when he joined the rest of the students of the school in the auditorium, he cried because he would never be able to spend more time with her. He cried because the desk behind him would forever hold a different face and he would have no one to tell his stupid jokes to. He cried because he would never hear her laugh again or see her perfect smile. He cried because he knew that flowers and candles surrounding her picture on the stage would have made her cringe. He cried because he was stuck in a room of people crying over someone they never knew and adults who never cared about her were reading articled they printed off the internet.

He cried because he would have to visit his father in jail because he thought it was a good idea to drive his brand new sports car fast down their street with his college buddies watching and a beer in his hand, with too many others already entering his blood stream. He cried because he knew he didn’t need the notes that she was bringing him, and she wouldn’t have been in front of their house if he instead had asked her on that date. He cried because the girl he loves had died without knowing how he felt and it was his fault.


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