Dear Fin,

   No greetings. Let’s just get straight to the point, I . . . I need this. I need to find out where you stopped loving me. I know it’s somewhere in my mind, but my memories are all knotted together like a tangled string, and the answer I crave is hidden carefully among the twisted line. I just need to unknot it, to detangle it, to untwist it. Then I’ll know the truth, then I’ll know you, then I’ll know me. Then . . . well, then I’ll just know. I need to know.

    I wish you’re here to help me.

     Encounter Number Three:

    My mother was glaring at me, her eyes contempt, as if the sight of me was worse than swimming in acid. I couldn’t find it in myself to blame her, just glimpsing my reflection was enough to make me flinch and shudder . . . on first glance, no one would’ve ever guessed that I was my mother’s daughter.

     You remember my mother, don’t you? I’d be shocked if you had forgotten, everyone knew my mother.  It was impossible to forget her because; well . . . she was extraordinarily beautiful. So shockingly gorgeous with her corn silk hair, glowing hazel eyes, porcelain skin and with a figure that was much nicer than mine even though she had given birth to three children. Not to mention that she was probably the nicest woman in town, but how could someone not be nice when they had the perfect family?

    And then I was born.

    I’m sure when I was a baby, I was dotted and adored just as much as my siblings, but when it became clear that I wasn’t going to be as pretty as the rest of them . . . well, I was forgotten. Or rather, set aside. My mother wanted the perfect family and an ugly, untalented daughter would never fit the image. And as awful as that sounds, I’ve never blamed her for it, after all everyone knew my family and I fit the role well as the forgotten shadow looming the background.

    But here we were, regardless, at that small bridal boutique on Main Street. I was standing in front of the mirror, trying on my bridesmaid dress and I could see it in all their eyes, but especially my mother’s, that I looked absolutely hideous.

    My eyes locked onto the mirror and I tried to choke down tears. Of course, I would be the only blemish in the otherwise perfect wedding. Green, when the dress was first selected, seemed like such a wonderful choice; it set off my pale skin and hazel eyes and brown hair. But now, all I looked like was a giant-

    “Olive,” Jeanine (my eldest sister, who took after my mother’s looks. She was the one getting married) said. “She looks like an olive!”

     I felt my cheeks burst into flames. Of course, I messed up the simple task being a bridesmaid: wearing a dress, looking nice but not prettier than the bride and standing on the altar. “I’m s- sorry, sis-ssy.”

    I had used my childhood nickname for her, in hopes of calming her down, but she still scowled furiously. But that wasn’t shocking to me, Jeanine had always been (in the nicest sense of the word) volatile, and arranging a wedding was making her even more so. “Well, you can’t very well come looking like that.”

    Of course, she wanted me to step out of being a bridesmaid. I wasn’t surprised, again. Besides, I’d be happy to drop out; having a room of people staring at me wasn’t exactly great for my social anxiety. The only reason she had asked me in the first place was because her best friend’s cousin’s niece’s neighbour’s veterinarian’s daughter whom she once met at a party was unavailable, plus my dad recommended it.  Out of everyone in my family, my dad was the only person who seemed to think I belonged. “Of-f co-course, sis- Je-Jeanine, I don’t wa-want t-to be a bur-bu-burden.”

    “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” My mother snapped. For a moment, my heart lifted, my mother was standing up for me. Then she shattered that dim illusion of hope. “The dress is already fitted to her size and it’ll be much too big for any of your friends.”

    I gulped, trying to diminish the lump in my throat to no success. “You co-c-ould al-wa-ways have o-one less bride-bri-bridesmaid.”

    My mother’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that’s an idea, Jeanine. You have three others, don’t you? I’m sure that’ll be just fine.”

    Jeanine bit her lip, hesitating. My heart lifted once more; did my sister actually want me to be a bridesmaid? Maybe sh- “But, Mom, we already paid for the dress.”

    Of course, she was more concerned about money. And people say blood was thicker than water (or does money not count as water?).

    “Jeanine, your father and I are paying for the dresses, it’s not a big deal,” Mom replied. “Do you want to be standing next to her?”

    “Well, no, but . . .”

    “Jeanine, it’s al-alright,” I interrupted, blushing when their eyes found me. “Hon-honestly, I don’t mi-mind not be-being a bride-bri-bridesmaid.”

    Her eyebrows rose. “Are you saying you don’t want to be in the wedding? That you don’t want to be there? Whoa, you’re my sister, I thought you would want to help me-“

     My eyes widened. “No, that’s not what I meant-“

    And then she was crying. And not that single-tear-running-down-my-cheek but in a snot-is-dripping-from-my-nose-and-tears-exploded-in-my-eyes.

    Mom glared at me. “Annalise! How dare you treat your sister like that, after everything she’s given you. Goodness, Annalise, just . . . just go.”

    I nodded, mumbling a quick apology, before heading back into the dressing room and changing. I listened to my sister cry, before sneaking out of the bridal boutique. I was on Main Street and the wind whipped my hair, covering my face. There were so many people, but I just wanted to get away from the people in there. I didn’t care, though; I just wanted to run far away from here-

     And that’s when I found you.

    I literally bumped into you. My feet, like my voice, stuttered upon the ground and I fell over. But before I could hit the cold, hard cement, your arms slithered around my waist and held me up. I only knew it was you when my eyes met your vividly green ones.

    And you smiled. “Annalise, funny bumping into you here.”

     I wanted to smile, but nothing in the world seemed funny to me right now. “Y-you, too. I-I-I got t-to go, I’ll se-see y-you la-later.”

    You scowled, not removing your arms from me. People watched us in the middle of that busy walkway, stuck in a heavy embrace. People probably assumed we’re lovers. “You in a hurry or something?”

    “U-uh, yeah.”

    “Where are you going?”

    “Uh . . .”

    “You’re a bad liar,” you declared.

    “I’m n-not ly-lying,” I stuttered.

    “Is something wrong?” You asked.

     I shook my head.

    You frowned again. “Misfits have to stick together, Annalise. Come on, you can tell me anything in the world.”

    So I told you.

    And you kept frowning. You were still holding me, your arms becoming especially tight as I ended my story. It felt nice, though, comforting. “They sound awful.”

    I gasped. No one in the whole entire world had ever said anything negative about my family. They weren’t bad people, they just wanted specific things that . . . well, I couldn’t give them. “Y-you sh-should-dn’t say tha-that.”

    “Why not, Annalise? I mean, they might not be hitting you, but what they’re doing is still abuse. They put you down and-“

    “I-it’s no-not ab-abuse!”

    “Then look me in the eyes, Annalise, and tell me that they don’t make you feel worthless. And don’t stutter, don’t you dare.”

    I tried, but I couldn’t. The words stumbled along my tongue, breaking apart, no matter how smoothly I tried to say them. I admitted defeat, but you didn’t look smug or even pleased even though you got your way.

    “You’re not worthless, Annalise,” you whispered.

    I bit my lip.

    “Believe it,” you whispered. “I know we don’t know each other well, but . . . I can tell you’re special. In your own little Annalise way.”

    And that’s when I started to cry and you just wrapped your arms tighter around me, letting your fingers knot in my hair as my face pressed into your neck. You didn’t say anything as I cried into your arms, on that busy Main Street, on that windy day.

    End of Encounter Number Three.

    Encounter Number Four:

    I was happy to leave my house, since my mother and Jeanine couldn’t stop glaring at me, still obviously displeased with me from the day at the bridal boutique. And when you came to pick me up, they stared at you, as if amazed that anyone would want to spend time with me.  I couldn’t blame them, since it was a first. Regardless, I couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised when I saw you.

    The way you grinned at me as I peeled the door back . . . forget butterflies, elephants were stomping around in my stomach, so furiously excited to see you. I couldn’t very well blame them for that, or my cheeks which blazed with fire. You looked so handsome with ripped jeans and a Nirvana sweat shirt, your hair hidden underneath a black beanie.

    When you said my name, my heart melted in my chest and I couldn’t help but smile. It felt weird to smile when I knew my sister and mother were right in the next room. You asked me if I wanted to hang out.

    And I couldn’t refuse.

    The day was hot, so you took my out for ice cream.

    You said you would buy me a cone of any type of ice cream I wanted, but when I selected vanilla, you refused. You insisted that I was being no fun, but it wasn’t my fault that I enjoyed the simple things in life. When I pointed that out, you smirked that amused smirk of yours, before ordering me a cone flavoured like cookie dough.

    Afterwards, we went on a stroll throughout town and I showed you all the “land marks” our small town had to offer. It was a short walk.   

    Then you dropped me back home and you pulled me into an abrupt hug on the top step in the entryway. I tried to count the seconds of the hug, to determine if it was platonic or not, but I got lost in the infinites between the numbers. In your arms, in your chest, in your smell . . . I felt safe and worthwhile and alive.

    And then you left, without anything but a murmur of goodbye.

    End of Encounter Four.

    Can’t you see how I fell in love with you?

    -Annalise.

*

    Hey Reader!

    Chapter's Song: "Flaws" by Bastille. The idea behind the song is pretty simple: we all have flaws. And we have to face them. That's what this chapter is all about :)

    Thanks for reading!

    Love Your Favorite Liar <3