She’s never felt like this before.
What exactly is ‘this’? Is her “fairytale prince” just some faker with a tinfoil crown? She hopes not, because she couldn’t bear the crushing blow it would mean. The crush of reality against her heart, the impact slipping the blindfold from her startled eyes. Would she see what she believed she did now? Or would it be something totally different?
Would it be the truth? She knows those she used to call friends are wary of him. Of how he used to be, and how she tells them he treats her now. “A person can’t change overnight, no matter how hard you wish it,” they tell her. “It’s simply not possible for him.”
She just ignores them.
For if she’s happy and being treated well, what business of it is theirs? She’s not in danger – she’s smart enough to know when to bow out gracefully instead of getting her heart stepped on. Shouldn’t she get the very chance at happiness that they all wanted her to have? Isn’t everyone entitled to make their own choices and mistakes?
And, besides, they don’t know the him that she knows. He is a different person to her, one far gentler and sweeter than with he is with his friends. There’s a protective – and, at times, possessive – arm around her shoulders, and she can’t help but feel safe. Feel important. Feel wanted.
She is content, so what’s missing?
She knows his arms would be there to catch her, if only she would jump. So why can’t she? She isn’t scared, per say, more wary. Others have done this to her – made her jumpy and slow to trust people’s intentions.
“What’s wrong?” his soothing voice asks her over the phone, voice like a drug to her. “You seem like you’re daydreaming. Are you okay?”
Her answer is only silence.
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