blind

knowledge is a dangerous thing

He smiled at her, and held out his arms. She stared up at him, not quite sure what to do. Finally, she stepped into his arms, and he wrapped them tightly around her. She almost cried as he squeezed her tightly against him, it felt so right to be there, to be in his arms. She longed for it every single day, mostly because she already knew what it felt like to be in them, safe.

She remembered when he stood there, almost exactly where they were standing now, and told her he had made a mistake. That he had been kicking himself every day for ever breaking up with her. She smiled softly, almost invisibly, as the memories with him flooded through her brain. All those times they'd laughed, all those times they'd played together like a pair of small children. No matter what happened, she knew what he had told her, had softly admitted.

As he let go and stepped back, she smiled up at him. His eyes were hooded, she saw nothing in them. She never did understand what made him do the things he did. What had made him suddenly cross the room and hold out his arms to her? Why were there so many unsaid things left, hanging, in the air between them? It didn't matter, she knew what hadn't been said.

And so much hadn't been said. He'd never truly said how he felt about her. He was like that, always going around the outside of everything, dancing around the subject until she was nearly out of her mind with frustration. Then he smiled his charming smile and deftly changed the subject, entertaining her with one of his hilarious stories. Only she knew, she knew what he was doing.

And she had ignored the bad, she had looked to the good in him. There was so much of it, he was arguably the best boyfriend a girl could have. But she couldn't ignore it any longer. She knew why he still told her things, things designed to keep her hoping there could be something between them. Things designed to keep her blind. Blind to the realities, to the fact that he was not what she thought, that he was not what anyone thought. He was a lie. But she had silently listened, out of his sight, as he got three different girls phone numbers in a fifteen minute time span. And she had walked out where he could see her, and he had gotten a funny look in his eyes, crossed the space between them, and squeezed her tightly against him. And she had known. She knew why he told her those things, why he smiled and winked at her in that way.

She was there to be the fallback girl, just in case.

But it was too late. He had played one game too many, said one more thing he didn't quite mean. She wasn't sure if he ever meant it. But now it didn't matter. She wasn't going to be there when he came calling. She wasn't a toy, and she wasn't about to be discarded, nor was she about to become interchangeable. She was more than that.