drunken pretty boy

Drunken pretty boy


         He’s so beautiful as he strums the cords of his guitar, singing along to some song that I don’t know in a horrible voice that somehow makes me smile. I don’t know a thing about guitars or any other instrument for that matter but I can tell that he’s pretty talented. He would have to be with all of the practice that he does. Every time I’m on the phone with him, he hangs up to go play his guitar.
         God, his voice is horrible. He knows this, he isn’t trying to be a good singer, he is only trying to amuse himself and me with this little concert he has put together.
         I tell him to play a song that I know, one that sounds pretty and soft. He begins to play the song sweetly, and it sounds beautiful because he isn’t trying to sing along to it anymore. He doesn’t want to ruin the beauty of the music with his stupid voice.
         He doesn’t look at me as he plays; he only stares down at his guitar in deep concentration. It is the only thing that matters to him right now. I’m not even sure if he is playing the song for me anymore, it is more aimed to himself, just so that he can hear how talented he is. Is he really that self-involved? Probably not. Well…possibly.
         It is in these moments with the guitar that I realise my feelings for this person. They haven’t been this clear until now.
         He finally looks up at me and I realise that I have been staring at his face throughout the entire song, not listing to a single note because the song isn’t what matters to me anymore. It’s all him. He gives me his pirate smirk, his green-blue eyes shimmering at me while he sets his guitar down beside the couch. 
         I take a sip of my drink while he heads into the kitchen for a refill, since he drinks a little faster and I do. I drink my beverage as though it were chocolate milk, not tasting the amount of alcohol that it contains that will, in only a minute or two, have me pretty damn wasted. It tastes good, not like a substance that would get me drunk, although I know that that is coming.
         His parents are gone out for the night, even though they are fully aware that I was here. They must think that I’m a hussy, but that doesn’t matter to me now.
         He rejoins me on the couch with the full bottle of alcohol and just chugs it back while I sip from my plastic cup. Is it really a good idea that I get drunk around him? Will I be able to contain my emotions? The last thing I need is to get drunk and spill my guts to him in telling about how much I care for him and how I feel that he’s been messing with my head lately. That is the last thing that either of us needs.
         I set my drink down on the coffee table and lean in to kiss him. He tastes like vodka, which tells me that he’d had a few sips from another bottle of booze in the kitchen when I wasn’t paying attention. He kisses back, putting his bottle down and pulling me close.
         I stop for a second, and stare into his gorgeous eyes. I love him. I know that now. I don’t know exactly what love feels like, but from what I gather about the nuisance, this was it. He’s a jerk who leads me on constantly and makes me feel so weak and pathetic. Yet he has my heart.
         Does he love me back? It is completely possible. A person can be in love, even if he treats the object of his affection like crap.
         As he kisses me ever so gently, in the caring way that he does that seems to make every little thing all better, I know the answer to my question and I know it with confidence. No, he doesn’t love me back. I’m just another girl, and he’s my only guy