Post by Evlyn Montgomary on Jun 29, 2007 2:14:35 GMT -5
(This leads up to... I don't remember what Rp it was, but when Xander painted his apartment green. ne?)
Thinking back, Xander had never started out loving her. Just the opposite, really. He tolerated her at first, testing, testing to see what it was that made Jack crazy. He didnft find it then, looking at the scantily clad girl, a petite waif with a strong face and hard set eyes. Her beauty had always looked so breakable, her strong will was only an act. The only real thing was her distaste, her hate for anyone he saw as below her. He wasnft even sure if her love had been real, but then maybe no love was. Maybe she and Jack just pretended.
But that was then. Hefd made his own love, real or not. Carrie had been a joy and a pleasure, a distraction in life, though a usually welcome one. It had been because of her that hefd moved away from home, unable to tolerate the constant nagging about dating below his class.
In his own way, class didnft matter to him. It did, but it didnft, the same way looks and personality factored in, but never meant anything. But all the time his parents had told him that his friend, Miss Cassandra Tate, would make a much more suitable partner than thatc werewolf girl. And Patrick Daniels was another full blood, a much better best friend than Jack, who was a halfsie. He hated Cassie for a long time, seeing the same hatred in her, and sick of being nagged.
Something changed. He didnft even know when it had started. Maybe it was true what people said, that listening to a song over and over predisposed you to liking it. Maybe that was what happened. But Xander noticed that he and Cass argued more these days, but it was surely better than not talking. He had come to find a grudging respect for her, the innate strength that challenged the world to take her on, telling it how much she could screw it up if it even tried. And sometimes he watched her, noting the graceful movements she could make when she was walking, dancingc how fully she could smile when she though no one was looking. He wanted that smile.
But he had Carrie, still. Her joy hadnft faded, and it seemed like he learned something new about himself every time he saw her. They were opposites in every sense of the word, which only gave them more to discover. She was all sharp angles and hidden softness, an air of innocence and easy smiles. But thinking that brought him back to Cassandra, a small body and sharp mind, mischievous, so much bottled up inside. And they were both there, one for him while the otherc she was with Jack, for Jack, but so often he saw her looking at him.
Yes, they were both there, but he wasnft dumb enough to think he could have both. The closer he got to Cassie, the farther Carrie was. He would have to decide soon, and so he drank and smoked, finding his way to high plateaus of thinking, spending all of his free time in the safety of his room and his drugs. Thinking, thinkingc
And that was how Xander Dean finally broke.
Thinking back, Xander had never started out loving her. Just the opposite, really. He tolerated her at first, testing, testing to see what it was that made Jack crazy. He didnft find it then, looking at the scantily clad girl, a petite waif with a strong face and hard set eyes. Her beauty had always looked so breakable, her strong will was only an act. The only real thing was her distaste, her hate for anyone he saw as below her. He wasnft even sure if her love had been real, but then maybe no love was. Maybe she and Jack just pretended.
But that was then. Hefd made his own love, real or not. Carrie had been a joy and a pleasure, a distraction in life, though a usually welcome one. It had been because of her that hefd moved away from home, unable to tolerate the constant nagging about dating below his class.
In his own way, class didnft matter to him. It did, but it didnft, the same way looks and personality factored in, but never meant anything. But all the time his parents had told him that his friend, Miss Cassandra Tate, would make a much more suitable partner than thatc werewolf girl. And Patrick Daniels was another full blood, a much better best friend than Jack, who was a halfsie. He hated Cassie for a long time, seeing the same hatred in her, and sick of being nagged.
Something changed. He didnft even know when it had started. Maybe it was true what people said, that listening to a song over and over predisposed you to liking it. Maybe that was what happened. But Xander noticed that he and Cass argued more these days, but it was surely better than not talking. He had come to find a grudging respect for her, the innate strength that challenged the world to take her on, telling it how much she could screw it up if it even tried. And sometimes he watched her, noting the graceful movements she could make when she was walking, dancingc how fully she could smile when she though no one was looking. He wanted that smile.
But he had Carrie, still. Her joy hadnft faded, and it seemed like he learned something new about himself every time he saw her. They were opposites in every sense of the word, which only gave them more to discover. She was all sharp angles and hidden softness, an air of innocence and easy smiles. But thinking that brought him back to Cassandra, a small body and sharp mind, mischievous, so much bottled up inside. And they were both there, one for him while the otherc she was with Jack, for Jack, but so often he saw her looking at him.
Yes, they were both there, but he wasnft dumb enough to think he could have both. The closer he got to Cassie, the farther Carrie was. He would have to decide soon, and so he drank and smoked, finding his way to high plateaus of thinking, spending all of his free time in the safety of his room and his drugs. Thinking, thinkingc
And that was how Xander Dean finally broke.
