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change4a2

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Leaving the door slightly open, she stands near the frame. With one ear towards the opening and her left foot set to the side for a quick escape, she stands there listening intently. Like in the books she's read many times, she had pressed an empty glass against her wall in hopes of hearing his voice but instead the vibrations sent her shivers down her spine. Through this crack she finds it easier to eavesdrop, although consequently indiscreet.

Laughter. She hates hearing him laugh. How come he never laughed at her jokes? Was she not funny? She knows that's not the case. Growing up, she was always known for her wild antics and quick wit. Her sarcasm was well noted and appreciated. He just didn't have much of a sense of humor, finding more interest in the current events and stocks. God, what made her so interested in him the first place?

"You're so beautiful," he speaks in the phone. Her face is beet red from anger at this point. Vulgaris. She remembers that word to describe a flashy red or white root. Red. Her face is definitely red at this point, or so it feels.

Beautiful. She can't even remember the last time he ever called her beautiful. She always had to ask and she hated asking. She knew she was sexy, especially in her short skirt. She didn't realize she had great legs til a few months ago. Before, she always hid behind jeans but now she looks forward to the summer's warmth. She wishes it were summer now so she can waltz on by him with a new tan and perhaps fresh nailpolish. He probably wouldn't notice anyways. God she hates him. She hates his eyes, they way they're small and somewhat beady. She always felt he looked slightly asian. And those lips, big yet firm. She hated kissing him, but would anyways just to show off her pouty, soft lips in comparison. God she wants to kiss him right now. Just walk up to him while he's on the phone with the girl and kiss him passionately. He'll end up pushing her away, but imagine his reaction! If his face doesn't show interest, she knows all she has to do is slowly feel down his leg and touch his newly hardened member. She at least still has that. She can turn him on. He just won't allow it anymore.

Sometimes she envisions the girl and him having sex for the first time. Sure, it'll be full of "love" but she knows that it won't be amazing. If there's one thing he's always made her feel good about in their relationship was the fact that she was the best lover he had been with. She believed it and knew it, too. The way she kissed his neck and down his chest would send anyone squirming. She'd lean her head back and pull his hands up to form over her small, yet very firm breasts as she sat atop him. Head tilted, jaw opened, she'd moan in such a way that would give you goosebumps. She knew he loved the way she'd sigh in his ear and the way she'd moan for him to go faster. He always did. He may not have been the best kisser, or the most interesting guy she had dated, but the sex was amazing. She hopes and knows that the girl can't give him that

She hates herself for becoming so dependent on his attention. She was strong once. He met her at her weakest moment, unfortunately. The way he offered her his hand, she thought it was going to last. Months down the road she realized he felt she was too young and needed authority in her life. Fuck him. Fuck him for making her feel she needed him. Fuck him for making her need him.

She imagines revenge. Perhaps his pretty little car he was so proud of. Spoiled ass. His mother bought him that for his birthday. He's so confidant in himself. She hates that. He doesn't deserve anything he has. She wants to take it all away from him. Slash his tires, throwing his computer out the window. She wishes she knew the password on his laptop. She'd love to find his senior thesis and delete it from the computer's memory. So much for perfect grades.

Another thing he felt he had superiority over her. His damn brains. He thinks he's so smart because he has A's without trying. All it takes is a good attention span and memory and anyone can have amazing grades. HE failed kindergarten. How smart can he truly be? She was a spelling whiz and had the highest reading average in her entire school when she was only eight years old. She can rhyme anything, draw any cartoon you lay out in front of her, and pinpoint every mistake in the fine print. THose are smarts that aren't appreciated. She can do math, she just hates it and because of that, he thinks she's dumb. The girl likes politics and world peace. Apparently that makes her a saint. Her parents bought her a car, too and the dumb bitch ran a red light and totalled it. Apparently that makes her smart.

Thinking about him and the girl makes her collapse on the floor and cry. She's shut the door now, unable to hear his devotion to her on the phone. She knows she's prettier than the girl. She knows she's stronger and braver and wiser. Yet she sits here with a bottle of vicadin wanting to end it all just because she's got him. The girl thinks she's better because he says she is. She wants that. She wants to be better than someone. She wants to be noticed. She wants to be loved, even if she doesnt love back.

She runs the sink, splashing the cold water over her swollen eyes. She looks in the mirror. No wonder he doesnt think she's beautiful anymore. She cries all the time now and her face is ugly with the tears. The way her chin wrinkles up and her eyes get bright red. What's the point of living anymore?

She opens the bottle. Vicadin and whiskey should do her in quicker than Ibuprofin ever could. She throws back her head, a handful of pills hit the back of her throat. Whiskey burns just as much as her tears do.

Goodbye you. Have fun with the girl.

She crawls into his bedroom, dragging her legs behind her like a wounded animal. She looks up at him with pleading eyes.

"I changed my mind. I don't want to die. I don't want to make you happy."

Whipping out her .45 she kept so discreet in the bottom drawer, she shoots him in the center of his ribs. Her head collapses on his bedroom floor, feeling weak and tired. Their bodies lay. Her skin still soft with a slight trace of his blood in the roots of her hair as it traces a path to the center of his collapsed body.

Picture perfect.