I'm watching him now. How careless of him, leaving the curtains open for anyone to see inside. He's just so…ugh. How did I let him…? In my defense, we were both pretty plastered.
He's watching a stupid action movie on television. He keeps pumping his fists in the air and shouting whenever something blows up, which is pretty often. I just shut my own curtains; this is just too much.
How could a beautiful, smart and intelligent young lady like myself get knocked up by such an arrogant fool you ask? Well Brother, I will explain (with much regret) to you how this all happened.
It was during the Winter Fling Dance. I was lonely and depressed. You'd encouraged me to go by promising that it was your top priority to escort me. You…you never did show up.
It's okay, I know you were busy that night. For some odd reason, I envied all of the couples holding each other close on the dance floor. I imagined you and I dancing under those tacky decorations. Strange thoughts floated around my head about you not loving me.
It made me terribly upset that you were not by my side, I turned to alcohol. The vodka I took from your cabinet made me feel giddy. I drank away all of the doubts in my head. Then I saw him. Our eyes met: he saw a drunken damsel in distress and I saw a hazy substitute for you.
I did a lot of pretending that night. His smile was your smile. His voice was your voice. His touch was your touch.
I woke up in the art room. We were on a wooden table with a large canvas draped over our bodies. His arms were wrapped loosely around my waist. Realizing our situation, I let out a groan of disgust. I was humiliated. His eyes opened instantly. His lashes were blonde in the sun.
This is a dream, I'm imaging him.
Alfred blinked his eyes slowly, taking his sweet time to process just what the hell was going on. I attempted to squirm away, but he had a firm grasp. Then it hit him and his eyes widened in horror. Those blue orbs spoke to me and said, "Oh God, that was you last night?!" Although his face showed dismay, he still managed to make it look smug.
That just infuriated me.
I pushed him away and threw on my dress. He put his hands up defensively. Then I tripped on my way out the door. He somehow found humor in this, laughing at my fall. "You okay?" he asked, offering me a hand. It's a good thing that boyish charm doesn't work on me brother; I find nothing pleasing about fresh looks or youthful behavior.
I pushed him away again, this time with more force. I also added a "Stay the hell away from me!" for good measure.
You know those movies where the main character has a wild night and wakes up with a tattoo? My night was like that, only I woke up with a baby.
I hate myself for even getting in this situation. Remember Brother, my heart belongs to you. While reading this, never forget that my heart always belongs to you. Forgive me brother.