raya hale

“Oh, so you do have a type? And it’s not me”

The first time I saw the two of them together, I almost didn't recognize him. 

Technically almost everything about him was still the same. He was wearing his old red t-shirt with some stupid Star Wars reference on it and his favorite red flannel. The same one he would always let me where, the one he would give me when it got chilly, the one i always used to steal from him. The same one that he always said I wore better than him.

He’s leaning against his locker talking to some of his friends like he usually does after 4th period. Laughing at something Scott said, head tilting forward the same way it always does when he laughs too hard, his eyes shut and shoulders shaking slightly. It’s almost the same sight as always.

The only difference now was the girl standing with him. 

The girl who’s tucked under his arm, instead of me. Like she belongs there. Like it's been her place since the beginning of time, like it wasn't me just a few months ago in that very spot.

Since then I have seen them everywhere. It's like the universe is trying to play some cruel joke on me. No matter where I am, I can't escape them, I can't escape her. It didn’t matter if they were truly there or not. That's what sucks about life: you can never get away from the things that haunt you.

When I'm at home, she's there. I look in the mirror and I see what he didn't want. What wasn't good enough for him. I see all the features he once said he loved… I see the opposite of what he has now. 

“Oh so you can reply? Just to not me”

I watch him as he texts her in the middle of class, hiding his phone behind his english textbook. He’s a few seats in front of me to the left, her to the right. 

They glance at each other watching the others' reaction to their message.

I wonder if they're planning to watch a movie this friday like we always did, has he convinced her to watch Star Wars with him yet? Or are they making fun of the way Mrs. Clemons voice squeaks when she raises it, we used to always text about that during class.

But that was before he stopped replying to me. That was before he said he should focus more on class since that's why we were at school. At first I understood, I mean that was reasonable, but then not wanting to text in class turned into him not replying to me completely.

The end of our relationship was just unanswered texts and missed calls. 

It started with late replies and different excuses on why he didn't answer, as it went on it slowly became complete radio silence. 

I began to wonder if what he's always wanted was the opposite of me. Did he always prefer blue eyes over brown, “Fuck if i would’ve known that I would’ve got contacts” I joked to Kira once. 

I laughed, she didn’t. 

Instead she just stared at me with the look people get when they feel bad for you but don’t know what to say.

A part of me wonders if things would've been different if i looked like that, if i looked like her. If instead of the deep brown eyes, the kind that disappear in the dark, I had bright blue ones, the ones that people notice the second they look at you.

I wanted to throw my phone across my room when I saw the post. Stiles had posted a picture of the two of them on his close friend's story on Instagram. They were cuddled up on his couch, his arm around her shoulders, sharing a blanket, there was a bowl of popcorn in her lap, the two of them were smiling at the camera, the text on the screen said movie night with the film and red heart emoji. 

We never unfollowed each other, he never removed me from his close friends, so he knew I would see it, and yet he still posted it. He knew that I would notice how they were doing the same thing we used to do, I probably have an almost identical picture of us somewhere on my phone. The only major difference being the girl that looks nothing like me. 

I don't understand any of this. Why her? 

She didn’t have the same dark curls I spent half my life learning how to take care of. She didn't have the same brown eyes that Stiles used to swear were his favorite color in the world. Her skin wasn’t the same rich brown as mine, the kind people compare to honey. Hers was pale and smooth, the kind people compare to milk.

Maybe I should take this as a compliment. Maybe the reason she looks nothing like me is because there isn’t anyone like me. Maybe he couldn't find someone with the same curls, the same brown eyes, the same everything, so he just didn’t try.

But that doesn't seem right, because that's not true. 

There's so many girls at our school with dark curls that bounce when they walk. Girls with deep brown eyes that look almost black in the wrong lighting and girls with warm brown skin in every shade you could imagine. 

She looks nothing like me and yet he still looks so happy. He could've found someone like me if he wanted to. He just didn't. 

This whole time he was holding out to find the opposite.

He never wanted someone like me, he wanted someone like her.

And maybe the difference between us wasn't just the way we looked, but everything else too.

She seems soft, quiet, easy. The kind of girl who doesn't roll her eyes when Stiles rambles for too long. The kind of girl who doesn't argue with him about random topics or interrupt him just to prove she's right.

I've never been the ‘easy’ type. I'm sarcastic, loud sometimes. The kind of person who calls Stiles out when he's being ridiculous. The one who teases him, argues back, and rolls her eyes when he’s being dramatic. 

I've thought about what it would be like to be that girl, the one with the straight blonde hair that falls neatly down her back and blue eyes that catch the light every time she looks up at him. 

Or the one who just laughs at everything he says instead of teasing him for it. The one who listens quietly when he rambles instead of turning it into an argument. 

If I looked like her, if I acted like her, would we still be together? Would he still be mine?

No.

Even if I tried to change, he would still end up with her anyway.

I know it. 

Maybe it's because she knows how to be quiet when he talks. Maybe she lets him take up all the space in the conversation. Maybe she lets him be the center of everything. Maybe she's the kind of girl who steps back just enough so he can stand in the spotlight. 

Maybe she just agrees with everything he says. When he starts going on about something, some theory, some ridiculous idea, she just nods along like it makes perfect sense. Maybe she loves the picture because he’s painting it, even if it's not the one she would've drawn herself.

I was never like that. I've always had my own opinions and was never afraid to let him or anyone else know. Stiles used to tell me that was one of the things he loved about me.

He used to say a lot of things.

He used to tell me how he loved when I argued with him about random topics, how he loved how my curls looked when they were messy, he used to tell me that even though I had brown eyes like most people, mine were special and different from all the rest. That they were even better than the rare eye colors out there, like blue or green. He used to always tell me how beautiful I was, how my beauty was unmatched. 

Now I just can't help but wonder if when he said all those things, was I being lied to?

Every time he told me, he loved something about me,

Every time he told me he loved my hair, my eyes, my laugh, my stubbornness, when I would wear his clothes, when I laughed too loud or too hard, the way I would sing loudly in the car to the radio when it was just us but under my breath with others. Was he lying when he said he loved me?

Because if any of that was true he wouldn’t be with her…

right?

If he loved any of those things about me he would still be with me, or at least someone like me. He wouldn’t be with the girl who was the total opposite. The girl who is everything I'm not. The version of a girl I could never be.

Maybe it's not the fact that she's nothing like me that bothers me, but the fact that she isn't me.

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