Stories by Jennie..Bringing You Hockey Slash since March 23rd, 2006!
I never really believed that you could get lost in someone's eyes until I met you. You would be talking to me, and I would be swimming in your eyes, playing in the darkened pools of your pupils and hypnotised by their splender all at the same time. You would hit my shoulder and ask me why I was staring, but I could not come out and say, "I'm intrigued by your eyes. Let's shag like bunnies until the sun comes up, best friend."
As cheesy as it sounds, our friendship meant too much to me. I knew that if what I did did not get across to you, we would still have our friendship. What I did was write you a couple verses about your eyes, not sign my name and stuck the note in your jacket pocket.
After you left that night, I sat in my room jumping at every sound. I was thinking it was you, ready to laugh the note from a fan who got too close away. While pondering ways to hint at you that, in actuality, it was me who wrote you the obsessed note over one of your facial features, I heard a deep voice from behind me say my name.
I turned around and faced you, determined not to get lost in those eyes. You sat down on the bed beside me and began speaking. "So, I found this note in the pocket of my jacket." I just nodded along, occupying myself with anything but those eyes. "It was from this person who was intrigued by my eyes. It was so beautifully written and I just want to tell the person who wrote how beautiful every feauture of them is."
I took a heavy sigh as I realized that this person could not be me; I'm not beautiful. You left shortly, saying something about going out for a bit, but I wasn't listening. The pain of your rejection was searing like a carving knife in a turkey on Thanksgiving. Even though my heart was killing me, I still felt strangely numb, as though I was in a dream.
I ran into our kitchen, deperate to let myself know that this was reality, and threw open our silverware drawer, removing a freshly cleansed steak knife. Putting the blade parallel to the blue road running down my arm, I put pressure on the blade.
Moving the blade further down the road of blue, I pressed the it twice. The pattern of moving the moving the blade down and pressing continued three, four, five, six, seven times. After the seventh time, I was floating away from our apartment, away from the world until a black wall blocked my path and forced my eyelids closed, sending me into a deep sleep.
Ten minutes later, I was still asleep, sitting on the floor in the kitchen surrounded by a puddle of my own blood, the knife laying in my limp right hand. Your heavy footsteps shook my body and a vase of deep red roses was dropped near my feet, revealing a card with writing scrawled on it. You say you love my eyes. There is not one part of you I don't love. I'm willing to come in only if you let me. Love for you always.