"You know, Doll," he says, "we will never really work out." She pouts, tilting her head back so she can see him. He's not looking at her, his gaze off in the distance, but his fingers stroke her hair. The contact tickles, and the sun is rising.
"Oh?" She asks, not looking away, not blinking, and just waiting for recognition. And when he does look, like she knew he would, she looks away.
"Oh." She says again, but this time it's not a question.
"Doll," He starts again, but she's standing up, pushing herself off his chest, and dusting grass off her clothes. "Doll!" He calls again, but she's walking down the hill, and the sun is setting, and he's still sitting. "Doll." He whispers, finally, but this time, no one hears him.
He doesn't see her much, after that. Sure they go to the same school, and maybe his nephew and her brother are in the same kindergarten class, and maybe their town just isn't that big, but he doesn't. Perhaps she's avoiding him or he's avoiding him but either way there is definitely some sort of avoiding going on because he doesn't see her.
But why should he care, he didn't want her in the first place.
She hears from a friend who heard from a friend that, according to his friends, this was all just a silly bet. Get the bad boy with the nice girl, fuck her, maybe, and break her heart. 'Well he hasn't really won,' she thinks to herself. 'Not really.' She was breakable, but she wasn't a doll. Least of all his doll. She was just a bit more resilient.
When he does see her again, she's with a boy. He is Tom something-or-another, also known as Douchemonkey numero uno. He plays football or wrestles or some shit, leads the Debate Team, part of Student Council. In other words, he's the scum of the earth. He growls and grimaces, and considers punching him out or keying his car but he doesn't. Because he's Mister Cool. Because he doesn't care.
She doesn't care, not really. She liked him, sure. She saw the good in him, yeah. There was something, possibly. A spark. A flame. But not enough to give a damn about now. So she keeps living, keeps smiling, and Tom's a sweet boy, a nice guy, and her friends actually like this one, so hey, why not? It's worth a shot. And that's how it happens and from then on out, she doesn't notice him or think about him, except in passing. And even then, it's only for a second.
Across town, he's dying. He doesn't know what's happened to him, but all he can think of is her face, her cute little ass, her stupid little grin. Those sun dresses she wore, her red lipstick. The taste of cigarettes, and maybe, was it, peppermint? What's worse is he likes it, he smiles, he laughs, thinking about the things he said. She's his doll, why did she leave him? Why did he push her away? Usually he doesn't let these things confuse him, but tonight, he's all out of sorts.
He sees her, one day, all alone, sitting on a swing set. He walks over, leans on a pole, smiles slyly. Pulls on the mask and begins the game. He wants her, yeah, he wants her.
"Doll," he says. She looks up, her head tilting to one side, and she slides off the swing. She walks towards him, the same look in her eyes, curious. Thoughtful. She comes up to him and places her hands on his chest, her fingers barely touching. It's the same place as when it ended. But this time, the sun is setting.
"Doll?" She asks, and he's entranced by thought mouth, by her voice, by everything. She smirks.
"In your fucking dreams, dipshit." She nearly spits, and she walks away.
A/N: Muahahaha, didn't expect that, did you? Oh well, this is also short but I rather like it too just simply because I think it's funny. I know, I know. August needs substance. D: Hope you all are fantastic!