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AN: This will be a four or five part story that was inspired by the twisted, agonizing romance of The Hunger Games trilogy. I read the final book today, and I'm still crying. I've been singing Flightless Bird, American Mouth for the past hour. I don't even know why, since it's a song associated with Twilight and I haven't listened to it in God knows how long. It just seemed to fit the story line of The Hunger Games so perfectly.
Anyway, I hope I don't disappoint.
Henry stands behind me, and our eyes lock in the reflection of the mirror. The one person I trusted through turmoil and death and chaos and love; he's still standing right there, right behind me. So close, yet just out of reach.
He doesn't talk about the kisses anymore, which should be a good thing, but it's not. It's not because he doesn't remember. It would have been one thing had we kissed once by mistake, but this was a series of pulse-racing, palm-sweating, sneaked-behind-the-curtains kisses.
We both knew what we were doing. It probably would have gone somewhere, too. A relationship? Too messy, but possible. It happened over and over, and I kind of wish it would continue. I thought it would, too.
Until the accident.
How disgustingly cliche that Henry would get into a head-on collision while driving home from my house. Severe trauma to the head, amnesia of the past few years. He barely remembered my name, and I've known him for six years.
It took him a while to warm up to me, a complete stranger except for distant memories of riding our bikes down gravel paths to the lake. But I finally broke through.
And here we are, going to senior prom as friends. He's spent the past two hours at my house, helping me get ready, but not really because he doesn't even know what a curling iron is, let alone how to work one.
He mostly sat around and watched TV, occasionally giving me his opinion when I asked. I finally managed, and now I'm staring at the horrid up-do I managed to twist my hair into.
Henry swears he likes it, but I know he just wants to get to the dance. He's never had patience, even before the accident.
The funny thing about the accident is that while he lost a lot of memories, his personality remained relatively the same; brash, kind, charming, impatient, humorous at the expense of no one. Basically perfect, if you ask me.
"Nina," He says, tugging on my arm. "You look devastatingly beautiful, now can we get a move on?"
I frown. "Are you sure my hair looks okay?"
Henry rolls his eyes, but he smiles genuinely because he can never truly be mean to me, or anyone. "If it looked any more okay..." He trails off and shrugs.
When I raise a carefully plucked eyebrow(hurt like a bitch; never again will I touch the poor things), he supplies, "It looks better than okay."
I sigh and run a hand down my silky blue dress. It's probably made of polyester and other cheap fabric, but I feel like a princess in the floor-length dress that I got on sale at Macy's. Henry had positively beamed when I first came out of my bathroom wearing it.
Then he'd touched my hair, and I had to do it all over again.
"Are you sure?" I ask one final time, and I know I'm really testing his patience now.
Instead of answering, Henry wraps a warm hand around my wrist and tugs me away from the mirror. "We're going to be late," is all he says as he drags me down the stairs and out the front door.
My mom takes two pictures, but that's all. She's been really distant since the accident, more frugal, less trusting of the boy her daughter has known for six years. She smiles as we climb into Henry's Jeep Cherokee.
Henry can drive again, sort of. He doesn't remember the accident, and he doesn't have any fears of driving. He had to pass the driver's exam again a month or two ago--the doctor was really against it--but he got a 96-percent. The doctor didn't say much after that.
We drive to Macy's house, where several cars are already parked, including the limo that will take us to prom. When we pull up to the curb, Henry parks and shuts off the engine. He gives me a hesitant smile, and we climb out and go inside.
Anyway, I hope I don't disappoint.
Flightless Bird.
Henry stands behind me, and our eyes lock in the reflection of the mirror. The one person I trusted through turmoil and death and chaos and love; he's still standing right there, right behind me. So close, yet just out of reach.
He doesn't talk about the kisses anymore, which should be a good thing, but it's not. It's not because he doesn't remember. It would have been one thing had we kissed once by mistake, but this was a series of pulse-racing, palm-sweating, sneaked-behind-the-curtains kisses.
We both knew what we were doing. It probably would have gone somewhere, too. A relationship? Too messy, but possible. It happened over and over, and I kind of wish it would continue. I thought it would, too.
Until the accident.
How disgustingly cliche that Henry would get into a head-on collision while driving home from my house. Severe trauma to the head, amnesia of the past few years. He barely remembered my name, and I've known him for six years.
It took him a while to warm up to me, a complete stranger except for distant memories of riding our bikes down gravel paths to the lake. But I finally broke through.
And here we are, going to senior prom as friends. He's spent the past two hours at my house, helping me get ready, but not really because he doesn't even know what a curling iron is, let alone how to work one.
He mostly sat around and watched TV, occasionally giving me his opinion when I asked. I finally managed, and now I'm staring at the horrid up-do I managed to twist my hair into.
Henry swears he likes it, but I know he just wants to get to the dance. He's never had patience, even before the accident.
The funny thing about the accident is that while he lost a lot of memories, his personality remained relatively the same; brash, kind, charming, impatient, humorous at the expense of no one. Basically perfect, if you ask me.
"Nina," He says, tugging on my arm. "You look devastatingly beautiful, now can we get a move on?"
I frown. "Are you sure my hair looks okay?"
Henry rolls his eyes, but he smiles genuinely because he can never truly be mean to me, or anyone. "If it looked any more okay..." He trails off and shrugs.
When I raise a carefully plucked eyebrow(hurt like a bitch; never again will I touch the poor things), he supplies, "It looks better than okay."
I sigh and run a hand down my silky blue dress. It's probably made of polyester and other cheap fabric, but I feel like a princess in the floor-length dress that I got on sale at Macy's. Henry had positively beamed when I first came out of my bathroom wearing it.
Then he'd touched my hair, and I had to do it all over again.
"Are you sure?" I ask one final time, and I know I'm really testing his patience now.
Instead of answering, Henry wraps a warm hand around my wrist and tugs me away from the mirror. "We're going to be late," is all he says as he drags me down the stairs and out the front door.
My mom takes two pictures, but that's all. She's been really distant since the accident, more frugal, less trusting of the boy her daughter has known for six years. She smiles as we climb into Henry's Jeep Cherokee.
Henry can drive again, sort of. He doesn't remember the accident, and he doesn't have any fears of driving. He had to pass the driver's exam again a month or two ago--the doctor was really against it--but he got a 96-percent. The doctor didn't say much after that.
We drive to Macy's house, where several cars are already parked, including the limo that will take us to prom. When we pull up to the curb, Henry parks and shuts off the engine. He gives me a hesitant smile, and we climb out and go inside.
Last edited by sb on Tue Aug 31, 2010 8:58 pm; edited 1 time in total
