Costumes Don't Work, pt. 3

We go into the next room and she starts crying right away. I pull her head onto my shoulder and see the tears mixed with eyeliner drop onto my lap. Her knees are entangled with mine, my fingers brushing the hair back off her face. I try to console her, but nothing I say can help her.
She is me, only I know how to hide it better. I smile at her and wipe away the tears and she thinks I’m laughing at her because she had to get this drunk to to let it out herself. She’s alone. She’s hundreds of miles away from home and hates it. I show her that she’s not alone, and that I too feel alienated and lonely.
She says I don’t know what it’s like, that I’m the one who’s ignoring her, that she needs to run to the clown because I’ve left her alone and she’s go no one left. I tell her that I love her, that I’ve always loved her and that it kills me to see her like this.The truth is: she’s pushed me away. The truth is that she’s just like any other girl.

View this story's 1 comments.