4 The 20-month Long Torture

So it went for the next 20 months. I made new friends and excelled at new classes, but my only wish was to get a smile from him.

I hated myself. I had only felt contempt for those girls who had thrown away the last shreds of their dignity to pursue the boy they liked, even though we were still young and there was no way they would stay together forever. However, my heart ached for him, even though I was too proud to talk to him and too terrified of being rejected. I had my reputation to uphold.

They called me the Empress. The coveted crown jewel of the school. People made way for me in the corridors, too insecure to try to make conversation or even to meet my eyes. Perhaps if they did, they would understand what kind of a person I really was.

They did not know me. What they saw was a mask of coldness and arrogance. I always walked with my head held high, never looking down at my feet, but no one dared to try to trip me. Newcomers were always taught of me. I could always hear the hushed whispers somewhere behind me: "That's her."

"She's never gotten anything below an A*!"

"Wow, she's so pretty!"

"Don't even dream of going near her. She's way out of your league; and don't ever make her angry."

It was difficult to make friends. My reputation was known throughout the school and repelled most of the others. Of course, I wasn't lonely. I had surrounded myself with a group of close friends; the only ones who were allowed to see the kind, witty person who only emerged when with them.

I had confided in some of my most trusted friends. They had been surprised to learn of my agony, but had failed to come up with any idea of what I should do other than "Just talk to him!" in which I would respond with a bout of wailing "but I can't!"

One of them, Max, had asked the most painfully hard-hitting question.

"If you're still pining over him like this, why did you break up with him in the first place?"

Sometimes I wondered too, until the answer came to me and I realised that I'd known it all along.

We'd been perfect. On était beau. The shy fumbling for each others hands, the sweet kisses in the rain. We were the most admired couple in the school. One raven-haired Queen next to tall, blond, handsome King. He'd matched me in every way, in wit, intelligence amd humour. On était beau.

Then, after a few months of pure bliss, we'd begun to grow cold. It was partly because of our shyness to initiate any type of cuddling, but our conversations had become less and less interesting. He'd hardly noticed my wisftul gaze on him while he was spending all the time with his friends. Even when we were alone together, his mind would be somewhere else and the air around us grew colder and colder.. until one day, I decided I wasn't happy anymore.

I'd known for so long. I'd just been in denial, unwilling to let go of the past memories. There had been a girl. Tiny, brown-haired. Named Paige. He smiled at her like he used to smile at me. I should have left him for my own happiness. But I didn't. I did it for his. Perhaps if I let him go, he could be happier with her.

I thought I would be happy too. I was wrong. The dull ache that still resided in my chest proved me wrong. It seemed to mock me, wanting to make a point as it intensified into a twisting, stabbing pain every time I saw her suckerfished to his arm, or when I saw him braiding her hair. I had unconsciously ran a hand through my own raven locks then, wondering why he never braided my hair. Was it because it was too thick, too coarse?

I shook myself. No, I thought internally. Your hair is beautifully thick and silky. You are the Empress. No one gets you down.

It's all for the best...please. Tell me it's all for the best.