Come On Irene

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A girl that's been in love with a guy for two years, but he pays absolutely no attention to her. He only notices that she's so unconfident with herself, lacking self-esteem in any way possible.

There's an interesting twist to the story in the end.

Submitted: April 24, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 24, 2012




Love is a funny thing. Sometimes it's reciprocated, and all is good; two lovers meet at the same point in time, and a spark is set off. In most cases, however, it is unreturned, leaving the lover feeling cold, empty and insecure. Irene tossed her long blond hair back and forth, trying to get its lanky posture to puff up a little. She absolutely hated her white lashes, her freckled face, and the gut she had sticking out of her shirt.
And this, she assumed, was probably why Dave from work never cared to pay any attention to her for the past three years and counting now.
Irene would put on heels every morning, then throw them off and resume to her sneakers.
She'd put her workout clothes on to go for a run, then she'd stop and exasperatedly give up before even taking the first step.
And her hair was always lanky.
She pouted at her reflection, looking this way and that, and trying to get an angle in which she looked good at.
"Hey Dave," she said at her reflection, smiling a little.
"Hey Dave," she said, adding a shy downward glance.
"Hey," she said with a wink. "Uhhh!" she turned away from the mirror, frustrated. "Why do I have to look like this?" she wondered, her eyes brimming with tears. 
What Irene didn't know, however, was that Dave was well aware of how much she liked him. The only thing she was indeed true about was the fact that he wasn't exactly into her either. Or at least not the way she wanted him to be.
What Dave was curious about was the lack of self-esteem that Irene had. She had the elements of a good looking girl, but she wasn't attractive. She had the potential to be so much more than she was, but she just wasn't confident enough to meet that potential. And lord did she have a beautiful name.
She was puffing on a drag when he walked into the office on Monday morning.
"Good morning," he said without shooting a glance at her.
"H… hi," she said, straightening her back a little. "Good morning Dave,"
He reached out for the box of cigarettes on her desk, and then locked his eyes with hers. "May I?"
"Um, of course," Irene pulled out a lighter from her pocket, handing it over to him. "I didn’t know you smoked," she said sounding a little bemused.
"Well, I usually don't," he said as he lit his own cigarette. "Just a habit I picked up recently," he inhaled his cigarette, and then exhaled a jet of smoke out before slightly clearing his throat. Irene could tell that this wasn't something he did often, but said nothing.
From that day on, Dave would walk into the office every morning and take a cigarette from Irene, and he'd just silently smoke it at her desk before going off to his own desk.
Irene would watch him with her wide blue eyes, admiring the way he looked, the way he got better and better at smoking as the days rolled by.
For years she would watch him walking into the office, waiting for him to make a pause at her desk for a cigarette, and this was as much contact as she got from him. He eventually stopped, however, and instead began buying his own cigarettes, but he'd raise a hand to wave at her when he walked in. And she would smile a smile that would light up the world if she knew of the beauty she contained.
Day by day, as the years rolled by and the pair got older, Dave's hair got longer. His once auburn hair grew lighter as he'd spend more time in the sun smoking cigarettes. He stopped working out, and grew a little flab in the tummy – but Irene still loved him as he was. He was picture perfect. His big blue eyes scanning his paperwork at his desk, puffing on a cigarette just like she did; his hands running through his thinning blond hair.
He started slouching more, and he started dressing differently. A hoodie and a pair of jeans seemed to get him by. Irene missed the suits, but she liked this new and carefree Dave that was being rendered.
However, despite all the changes he went through, he still didn't talk much. Irene didn't mind though, because she wasn’t much of a talker either. Instead, she'd watch her – she'd watch him at his desk, working on his papers.
One morning, Dave walked into the office. "Hey Irene," he said, walking up to her desk. "May I? I forgot my pack," he said, gesturing at the pack of cigarettes.
"Hey Dave," she said. Déjà vu. "Um." Her eyes scanned his face. Oh, how much he's changed. His beard was now gone, all except of a couple of fair stubbles across his cheeks.  He seemed shyer than he was just quiet. Everyone changes, she thought to herself. She still loved him all the same. "Sure," she said.
Both hands reached towards the box of cigarettes, and she wasn't sure which her hand was and which was his.
Her hand froze, and he took the box, pulled out a cigarette and lit it for himself.
"Thanks," he said before turning and walking back to his desk.
Irene went home that night, and walked up to the mirror she was so used to scolding. She looked at her reflection, and the expression she saw on her face was one of puzzlement and bemuse.
"Hey Dave," she said, looking at her reflection.
Dave had become her.
She had learned to love herself.  

© Copyright 2019 ayazain. All rights reserved.

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