1: heartbreaker
Sophie broke up with Nicholas last week, and with Tarquin the week before that, and so on, and so forth: an endless stream of boys. Thereāve been more notable ones, Nicola supposes. Tedros, early on, who had never much liked Sophie anyway. Rhian, who had actually seemed quite serious about it until he ran back to Kei. Hort, who had definitely been serious about it, poor thing.
There was Rafal, but no one really likes to talk about Rafal, least of all Sophie. Nicola hadnāt known her, then; she only knows about Rafal through Agatha, and even then only through fragmented pieces of the story, Agathaās hesitance to reveal anything of Sophieās that she didnāt already flaunt.
She knows that Rafal turned Sophie against everyone else sheād ever loved. She knows that Rafal had made Sophie feel special.
And, from being Sophieās proclaimed best friend, she knows this, too: that Rafal was the one who started Sophie down her path. Sophie speaks of it lightly, like itās all one big joke, but sometimes her eyes grow distant when she says: Iām grateful for him, really, darling. He made me more me.
Nicola still doesnāt know what that āmeā is, to Sophie. She doesnāt quite get how Sophie sees herself, or wants to see herself. Untouchable. Thatās her best guess.
Nicola has never known her to be anything else.
It still surprises her, to this day, when Sophie takes her hand. It surprises her that Sophie, with her alabaster skin and glittering emerald eyes and golden hair, with her smile thatās never left a line on her face, is real. Is a tangible thing. A person who would hold Nicolaās hand as they traipse through the empty streets, stars twinkling above them. The world is so empty sometimes.
It doesnāt matter, because Sophie fills the space.
Her fingers slip through and out of Nicolaās, and she twirls as they make their way down the street, laughing brightly at the vast, dark sky. Her voice echoes. Thereās lipstick smeared down her mouth. Today Nicola picked her up from a bar, found her halfway in some random boyās lap, dragged her out. For a second she had a handle of it. But Sophie is fleeting, free, always just out of reach.
Well. Nicola has put up with it for this long. Longer than anyone, really, except Agatha, and Sophie is practically her sister. She doesnāt mind going on.
God, she really is doomed, isnāt she?
āThis is how to be a heartbreaker,ā Sophie sings, āboys they like a little dangerā¦ā She doesnāt finish the lyric, doesnāt follow through, just throws her head back and laughs, and for all that itās worth Nicola knows sheās going to be the next one. If not the next, then itāll still be her eventually, after however long it takes Sophie to get bored of her, too. Itās been a good run. Itās been longer than she expected.
But Sophie is so beautiful, has never been more beautiful, Nicola thinks that every time she sees her. No wonder the world falls at her feet. No wonder she gets away with it.
Sheās never going to notice Nicola, waiting patiently for her to stay still. Sheās never going to notice how itās always Nicola picking her up, dragging her out, getting her through the messes she makes. Maybe itās a good thing. Canāt get her heart broken if Sophie never gets her hands on it in the first place.
Still, she thinks wistfully, as Sophie whirls in the midst of her laughterā it would be nice to be seen.
āWeāll get him falling for a stranger, a player,ā Sophie goes on, with all too much conviction. āSinging I lo-lo-love youāā
She turns back to Nicola, then, and thereās something strange and sad in her eyes. Itās at odds with the sickeningly upbeat way she cheers the last line. āAt least I think I do!ā
With Sophie, there is always a way out. That is, for her. Not for anyone who might believe her. And certainly not for Nicola, who knows her well enough to not believe herā and wants this, wants her, anyway.
//
hopefully writing one SGE drabble a day for november, using nosebleedclub's november prompts!
