a/n: Icelandic class bores me. To the max. So I write. It's short, but I'm aiming on writing a longer one later. Soon. Someday.
Marlene McKinnon was not made of porcelain.
She didn't break when snapped at. She didn't break when she was pushed or when she was hurt.
She didn't break when her world fell apart and everything shattered around her. She just watched, with a smile - a smile close to the smile of a fake porcelain doll, but she wasn't made of porcelain.
She had the white skin of a porcelain doll, white pale skin and cheeks that reddened just the right amount in the cold.
She was tall, thin but had curves and golden curls that reached her mid-back, ruby lips and outstanding sparkling blue doll eyes. But she wasn't fragile as a doll.
She wasn't made of porcelain.
She liked to call other girls "Little perfect fragile porcelain dolls", dolls that would break into little pieces on the floor if someone snapped at them and needed help of someone else to collect themselves together.
She never understood how they - the little fragile porcelain dolls - could handle being with someone like him.
He was charming, clever and always knew just what to say, at first.
He started out so perfect that your knees gave upon you and words left your throat and your vision blurred, so the only thing in focus was him.
He took them out - the little fragile porcelain dolls - and then he broke it off, quicker than it started.
It was never more than a date, a snog, a shag. And then it was over.
But it wasn't quite the same for them.
Marlene wasn't fragile, Marlene wasn't a porcelain doll that just broke a part because of some boy that didn't want more than that with her.
Maybe that was what made him come back for more.
But it wasn't the sweet - I-wanna-be-with-you - kind of more.
He didn't take her out on dates.
He didn't talk to her directly unless he wanted to.
He answered her questions with a shrug or a nod, never words unless he wanted to.
And she let him pull her and push her and snap at her and kiss her and…
She let him mess her world up so badly, that sometimes - all the time - she just wanted to scream.
But she didn't dare break.
Not in front of him.
Because she couldn't let herself look like she was just like them - the little fragile porcelain dolls - she was strong, stronger than them all. Stronger than him.
But she couldn't help it.
She couldn't help that it hurt.
When all he wanted was a snog or a shag.
When he would sometimes look at her, with a genuine smile and she'd let herself get lost in the moment, for just a moment.
And then it would be gone, because there would be a new girl - a better girl, a perfect girl - throwing herself on him, and he'd give her that smile and he would take her on a date and he'd kiss her and everything that followed.
But at least he didn't go back to them.
He didn't go back to the sweet, fragile porcelain girls.
He came back for more, with her.
Because Marlene McKinnon wasn't made of porcelain.
She didn't break.
At least not in front of him.
a/n: Thanks for reading! Review for me, please? (: