Zahira Part II
She turned her head and gave his childhood friend (more like fiend, she thought) an award-winning smile. "My sister's finally a wife of someone she loves, why shouldn't I be?"
He nodded and sat next to her, "But why are you crying?"
"I'm not!" she exclaimed, but her eyes were stinging, begging to let the tears out.
He turned his head and looked at her right in the eyes, he brushed his thumbs to the corners of her eyes. That moment, tears fell from her eyes. He kept brushing away her tears.
"Don't cry..." he whispered.
She cried even more and instinctively hugged him, buried her head on his chest. He ran his hand to her head and to her half-clothed back, soothing her with the gesture. She cried herself out, tears from her eyes soaked his suit.
"It's okay." he said soothingly.
"It's not okay..." she said back.
"Why?" he asked, his hands were now firmly on her waist.
"I'm not pretty, I'm not anything, I'm not her." she said in between her sobs.
"Who says you are ugly?" he asked.
She laughed bitterly. "Like you don't know."
"Me?"
"No... them."
"Oh... but you are not ugly." he said.
"Noone has ever told me I'm not, it's okay. Don't try to convince me that I am, years of... those things, depending on myself, defending myself, standing on my own... I'm already convinced that I shall never be pretty." she said, pulling back from him. Her make up was still as flawless as it was before, no smudges. Thank God for waterproof mascara!
"How could you even say that? You are pretty. You are beautifull."
She laughed a bitter laugh. "But not as pretty as her, not as beautiful as her, not as mart, as accomplished, or as successful, or even just as nice as her. I know. It's always been like that and I don't think it will change, I'm a nobody, remember? Your friends always say that to me and you know what? I am."
"Are you nuts?"
"Now that's something new." she said with a smile.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Thought so." she said and stood up.
"What? Where are you going?"
"I'm gonna pack my things, I'm moving out of my flat this weekend. I'm leaving for Paris."
He nodded and sat next to her, "But why are you crying?"
"I'm not!" she exclaimed, but her eyes were stinging, begging to let the tears out.
He turned his head and looked at her right in the eyes, he brushed his thumbs to the corners of her eyes. That moment, tears fell from her eyes. He kept brushing away her tears.
"Don't cry..." he whispered.
She cried even more and instinctively hugged him, buried her head on his chest. He ran his hand to her head and to her half-clothed back, soothing her with the gesture. She cried herself out, tears from her eyes soaked his suit.
"It's okay." he said soothingly.
"It's not okay..." she said back.
"Why?" he asked, his hands were now firmly on her waist.
"I'm not pretty, I'm not anything, I'm not her." she said in between her sobs.
"Who says you are ugly?" he asked.
She laughed bitterly. "Like you don't know."
"Me?"
"No... them."
"Oh... but you are not ugly." he said.
"Noone has ever told me I'm not, it's okay. Don't try to convince me that I am, years of... those things, depending on myself, defending myself, standing on my own... I'm already convinced that I shall never be pretty." she said, pulling back from him. Her make up was still as flawless as it was before, no smudges. Thank God for waterproof mascara!
"How could you even say that? You are pretty. You are beautifull."
She laughed a bitter laugh. "But not as pretty as her, not as beautiful as her, not as mart, as accomplished, or as successful, or even just as nice as her. I know. It's always been like that and I don't think it will change, I'm a nobody, remember? Your friends always say that to me and you know what? I am."
"Are you nuts?"
"Now that's something new." she said with a smile.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Thought so." she said and stood up.
"What? Where are you going?"
"I'm gonna pack my things, I'm moving out of my flat this weekend. I'm leaving for Paris."