|My Strongest Memory
Author: penrosecircuit PM
I felt myself dwelling on Alexis an awful lot. And I felt an emotion that was awfully strange to me.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 453 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 4 - Published: 01-12-11 - Status: Complete - id: 6646872
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MY STRONGEST MEMORY
I have to admit, I always prided myself on being the 'pretty boy'.
I don't mean to sound conceited, but I found nothing wrong with my face, and I could only assume my numerous ex boyfriends would agree.
When I was with David, though, I felt truly beautiful. I could always catch him just staring at me, and he would even tell me, at least once a day, how beautiful he thought I was.
Needless to say, that made me feel really good.
So after I got into that car crash and needed facial reconstruction, I felt like total shit. I could look into the mirror and not have enough fingers and toes to count the new flaws. I hated it.
I only assumed being with David would make me feel better. David always managed to make me feel better. I knew he would have exactly the right words to make me beautiful again. I mean, what kind of asshole dumps you for not being the 'pretty boy' anymore?
Apparently, the David kind of asshole.
I couldn't really believe it at first. Then I got angry, then really depressed, almost suicidal. But that wouldn't do me any good, so I just left.
I had half a mind to go to the police and rat David out for Alexis's murder; I actually got to the station, my hand on the front door, before I chickened out. I couldn't do it. I still loved him, even though it turned out he was a shallow little bitch.
It only made sense, the only reason he married Alexis was for her money, and what did I have in the bank? Nothing.
After David kicked me out, I felt myself dwelling on Alexis an awful lot. And I felt an emotion that was awfully strange to me.
I had used my 'pretty boy' charm to seduce her, and she had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
I didn't blame her.
Not because of my looks, or anything conceited like that, but because I was her escape from that jerk she called a husband, a word I never even got to use for him. (Which I no longer regret).
And also, I think Alexis genuinely liked me for me. Because the me I had put on for her wasn't exactly a fake me, most of the time. A lot of that was really, truly, me.
And that's where the guilt kicks in.
A few years after all that, I went to visit Alexis. And it only made the guilt worse, so bad it brought me to my knees, to see the aphrodisiac blooming on her grave.