Looking at Charlie, I can’t help but think myself plain. He’s got looks that books take pages to tell; his green eyes take my breath away whenever I see him, and when his hair gets too long it flicks up in adorable little curls.
Me? My hair hangs flat around my pale face and shades of purple line my eyes. Boxing made me too harsh to ever belong with someone so perfect.

I’ve heard the whispers of other girls.
“Why is he with her?”
“He could do so much better.”

Their whispers fill my heart with doubt, and as I look at him playing the guitar with a smile on his face, the paranoid part of me wants to ask the burning questions.
Deep inside I know it isn’t true.
But that miniscule corner of my mind keeps repeating. He’s too good for you. You know, he’s too good for you.

But when he looks so blissful there, I can’t bear to break the fairytale.