Those Little Mistakes We Make
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for Gemz,
motivation, inspiration, devotion
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•AN• : nothing really. just my way of venting the drowning-sensation of guilt. (wails) Yahya forgive me!!
•Disclaimer• : don't own don't sue. Miyami Kinomiya -- mine. Amber Benson -- Zadien.
•Warnings• : AU. OC. language.
•PS• : forgive the drama-queen-like behavior herein. it takes place on Miyami's birthday, the overhype of problems is allowed.
Those Little Mistakes We Make
April 13th, 2010.
Dear Inner-Ego:
I have, on many occasions, complained about my lack of verbal-filter; its absence is slowly leading to my social demise as I continue to let-slip the stupidest of untamed comments. My parents instilled in me a 'think before you speak' mechanism which has, of late, dissipated. Lord knows why; it just vacated my brain the instant my age began supporting that angst-inducing, pretentious suffix which incites a roll of the eyes from experienced adults: Teen. In this, my third year of 'teendom', I'm starting to realize why my mother spieled about thought-before-talk.
Where in all Hell am I going with this?
Right about here: Johnny McGregor. Although we barely speak beyond a few between-class greetings and quick smiles, I still seem to have this unshakable infatuation with him. Which sucks for me because my verbal-filterlessness is more pronounced. Every damn time a conversational opportunity arises, some graceless faux-pas falls from my mouth like bombs over Baghdad. Today, however, it was worst. Stupid stupid stupid words, all in a row, structuring a stupid stupid stupid sentence which has me feeling Emo.
Heh, that rhymed.
I'm not a bitch. I'm not even remotely cruel or antagonistic. Really, I make a supreme effort to be civil to everyone who saunters into my life – even for the briefest moment. But somehow I came across as the dirtiest, skuzziest, lowest-of-the-low person at GWHS. Amber'll tell you; I'm not self-serving, I don't believe anyone owes me for my presence, and I'm usually incredibly careful about the phrases I form. Yet, you'd never know it after my self-centric performance yesterday afternoon. It resembled an out of body experience: Everything went in-the-movies Slow Mo as Johnny and I exchanged pleasantries between French I and Ethics.
"Miyami‼ Suppertime‼"
"Be down in a minute!"
The kickstart of my week was great – borderline perfect – as Johnny invited me for pizza with he and his friends. I felt a little out of place, naturally, but managed a sociable appearance throughout the hour and a half we spent hanging out at Ollie's restaurant. Fuck if I ever go there again…Not after yesterday; the sheer embarrassment alone would kill me but the guilt and resentment toward my dim, oh-so-OOC display would cement a bitchiness I've never once roused till now. There we were, getting to know each other, my heart like a marching band, laughing and joking like friends do. That isn't when it happened, which is obvious as today is Saturday and the day my soul withered & died was yesterday – Friday. Needless to say, I was elated thereafter (going back to pizza with Johnny) and skipped home like a six year old after a sunny summertime birthday party.
"Miyami‼ Hurry up or we're starting without you!"
("Oh. We can't eat yet?")
"One sec‼"
Intuition informed me that Friday wouldn't be nearly as high-spirited. In fact, I felt physically ill that morning – as though I were going through withdrawal. Of what, don't ask because I'm as unsure as you are. The walk to school was routine: The new-summer sun shone gloriously and, meeting Amber halfway, I got to indulge in those delicious mocha pancakes Treasa thinks Amber loves. Truthfully, Bambi's fake-fixation on mocha pancakes is for me since my mom sucks at breakfast foods and her mom rocks the kitchen better than Martha Stewart and Rachael Ray combined. Hardcore, huh? (Thanks Bambi (:)
Johnny, who's in my World Literature class, let me lean on him in my sickly state – indeed, I grin – and allowed me to share deskspace with him when Mariam stole my window-seat so she could gawk at the senior track team.
The sun was still shining.
Little things filled the time between World Lit and the five minute hallway exchange. All pleasant, not-an-inkling-of-bad-karma things. Good lunch, good laughs: Perhaps mockingly good? That deceptive calm before the storm type of good. Damn it, I'm so overanalyzing this. But I digress. As I stumbled through the shoulder-to-shoulder blockade of students traveling to the last block on their schedules, I bumped nose-first into his chest. Not painful, just surprising. He's usually on the exact other side of the school for his last Friday class.
He smiled this boyish, lopsided smile that could force the sun into early retirement and pulled me to the outskirts of the crowd where we could wait out the congestion. Again, my heart sung a bump-bump-fuck it-burst ditty as is normal when he's nearby (nevermind right there). And that's when it happened. Let me reenact that car-accident for you.
Johnny: (pulls me aside)
Me: 'Hey,' (thinks about desperately wanting to spend time with Johnny) 'Johnny, I need you. I'm broke and you have pizza.'
Stop drop kaboom. That bomb exploded without a hitch. Yes, you read correctly; the above is what a manipulative whore uses when she's golddigging. It's what I use when my idiocy makes thinking second-priority. Had he not treated me on Wednesday, the situation might possibly have been lighter – here I wince.
I was a level of excited that doesn't come with verbal awareness. All I wanted to do was spend more time with Johnny, especially as he's leaving for summer break a month early (some unchangeable travel-date is to blame) and I likely won't see him until next fall. That alone breaks my heart. What I blurted wasn't what I wanted to say but who can honestly admit to telling their crush they like them when said crush barely knows them? Alright, a few folks; still, my head decided it would be weird of me to profess my undying infatuation when we can't correctly list each other's favorite color and starsigns.
No use getting Scene over this, though.
Mending this is my current focus, of course. My guilt won't let me think about anything else. Wednesday morning we have exams and I fully intend to apologize to him before his departure. There is no way I'm letting him fly away believing I'm some species of nasty-female-manipulator. (Bangs head against headboard) Stupid stupid stupid mouth; stupid pretty Scotsman; stupid feelings; just stupid
And that damn sun kept warming Frisco jovially.
"Miyami Kinomiya, get your butt down here or Bade gets what on your plate‼"
"Alright alright, I'm coming!"
(Moan)
It might as well have rained.
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bombs over Baghdad – song by Outkast
my heart like a marching band – from the song Morris Brown, also by Outkast
Scene – a social stereotype similar (if not exactly the same as) Emo. they're 'known' for cutting (scratching) themselves over the silliest circumstances.
Inspirational Soundtrack
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Sucks to be You – Prozzäk
Pedestal – Fergie