Last Girl (P)

PREQUEL

“The truth is . . . I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back.”

I looked up from my old, battered journal, my eyes finding an escape from those haunting words. I got up from the floor, the worn-out journal still clutched tightly in my hand and sat beside my window, my eyes immediately looking for better things to focus on. While my eyes found solace in watching dried up leaves fall gently from a tree, the small gust of wind swaying the leaves in a swift dance, my mind was stirring up a chaos.

The words that I just read in my journal kept calling for my attention. I tried to stay strong, to control myself but the next thing I knew, I was looking back at my journal, my precious journal. Leafing through the pages of my antiquated journal, I stopped turning the brown pages when my eyes caught a glimpse of those words again. The tip of my fingers ran shakily over my shabby handwriting, my eyes blinding me with tears.

Running my fingers softly over the words only triggered the memory of the day when I first scribbled those words in my journal. Those words were from a movie I had watched a long time ago. The movie never stayed with me but the words made a home in my heart. I was young with no care in the world, or interest in anyone.

And then, I fell in love.

I remember avoiding everyone in the school and sitting underneath a tree – my favourite spot – with a book in my hands. While everyone stayed in the background, there was one person who managed to catch my attention. I was exposed to too many stereotypes and bullies to believe that good resided in bad boys and popular, mean girls. But I was proven wrong.

It was not that she was popular or that the corner of her eyes crinkled every time she smiled. It wasn’t even that when she walked past you, you couldn’t help but turn around to get just one glimpse at her. It was not that her laughter, oh so electrifying, caused you to just stop and admire the masterpiece that she was. But it was about her heart that she wore in her sleeve. It was about the milk of kindness that ran through her veins.

When I first saw her, I was ready for sharp, biting words from the popular girl of the school. But instead, I saw her walking towards me, with a gentle smile on her lips, and stepping closer to me, she introduced herself.

Irene.

Her name was Irene Gray. I awkwardly extended my hand to shake with hers, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from smiling - I had always loved the name Irene – but she surprised me by taking me into her arms for a warm hug. Something had awakened inside of me, a feeling I wasn’t familiar with before. After learning my name, she walked away, that gorgeous smile still lingering on her lips. As I watched her walk away, the twitch on my lips finally gave away as a shy smile flashed across my face.

“What the fuck was that?” I remember asking myself.

I carefully closed my journal as tears were threatening to fall on the pages, and I never liked when pages got wet. I leaned my head against the wall, heaving out a heavy sigh. I am no longer the kid who was bullied, who was teased for being different, for living my life the way I wanted to. But I was the girl who had let her guards down and invited Irene to be a part of her bubble. The girl who secretly wrote poems about her best friend, about how Irene’s expressive eyes just drew people in, to get lost in them. How she took my breath away with her dimple that sneak upon me every time she smiled.

And how she stole my heart forever.

I stood up, wiping my tears away. After tidying my room, I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

“I look positively ghastly.” I said, sarcastically. “Bloody fantastic!” Sighing out loud for the umpteenth time, I finally got my depressing arse moving, “Alright, time to put on the happiest smile for the worst day of your life!”

With those words cutting right through my heart, I began preparing to play the worst role of my life: Irene’s maid of honour.