Experiment

He could see why anyone would like her: the carefully calculated mystery, all braces and seduction. Intentional charm; music trivia, inside jokes, short skirts, that laugh. He knew he was only a pawn in her never-ending games, hated it, loved her anyway. Loved that laugh, was won by the charm, seduced by seduction. He wanted to enshroud himself with her, with all of her: loud, look-at-me singing, pigeon-toed stance, online cartoons, eating the oyster that is the world because, why not, someone’s got to. She was a little girl trying to be a woman, and he merely observed as this contradiction became apparent in so many aspects of life. He loved her, wanted to tell her, had to tell her. As she walked toward him, hips bouncing, eyes scanning the room, a child, a flower, a dagger, the words formed. I love you, he wanted to say. He could taste the words like helplessness, bile, and those Valentine’s Day candy hearts that don’t mean a thing and leave an awful feeling- sick and sugary. His mouth opened, formed the words and was stifled mid-syllable. That babydoll angel-devil with a selfish streak looked him in the eye, perfectly waxed eyebrow arched, and declared, “I’ve found someone else.”