year at the championship game.
When Arrow shot the winning goal, I was so freaking happy that I actually ran out onto the field to hug him.
I’d always wanted to do that, you see. I always wanted to attend all his games and cheer for him from the stands and last year when he made his comeback after sitting out half the season before, I could.
Only security stopped me.
But I shouldn’t have worried because through all the chaos, Arrow somehow noticed my attempts to get to him and abandoning everything, he started toward me.
He came to me panting and sweaty and freed me from the guards, from where they were trying to hold me off like a trapped bird. Then he picked me up and made me climb his body like he usually does and kissed the fuck out of me.
In front of the whole world, the media gave me a new name: Arrow’s girl; his teammates still give him a hard time but he doesn’t mind because they’re his friends now.
So yeah, I’m Arrow’s girl.
Arrow’s eyes shine anew, this time with a possessive light. “Yeah, to tell them.”
“That I’m yours?”
“Fuck yeah, you’re mine.”
This guy is crazy, isn’t he?
And I love him so much.
So, so much.
“See? You won’t have to be without me. I’m your girl. Now and forever. Your needy, crazy girlfriend and you’re my perfect, idiot boyfriend.”
A slight smile flickers on the side of his mouth. “That you are. Needy. And crazy and perfect. My perfect.”
I wind my arms around his neck and stretch up my body. “Say it.”
His chest moves with a long breath, a long sweet breath, before he grabs my face and rasps, “My heart. My sweetheart.”
***
All my life I’ve been taught to chase perfection.
I’ve been taught to chase greatness and reject my flaws, my emotions. My heart. My very soul.
But I’m starting to understand that our flaws, the design of our hearts, the fabric of our souls, are the very things that make us unique.
That make us, us.
That’s why some people study science while others study art. That’s why some people dance and others sing. Some people write poetry and others don’t understand the meaning of it.
That’s why the world is big and vast and different. Because we all have something to offer.
Because we’re all perfect in our own way.
And I’m perfect too.
Not in the conventional sense, no. But for her.
At least, that’s what she tells me.
She tells me that I’m perfect for her and these days, that’s the only kind of perfection I care about.
Becoming her perfect.
Her Arrow.
The girl with thirteen freckles and witchy eyes.
The girl who changed my life and taught me things about myself.
The girl I’m in love with.
My Sweet Salem.
THE END
(For Arrow & Salem)
When: A couple of months ago; First sighting of Reed Jackson
Where: Ballad of the Bards
I don’t like whiskey.
At all.
It burns and it’s a masculine drink. Or at least, that’s what I’ve grown up believing because I’ve got four brothers – all older than me – and their choice of drink is whiskey.
Me? I like cosmos or pina coladas or mimosas. Drinks that are purple and pink and orange and taste sweet and wake up your tongue and sizzle between your teeth. Not that I’m legally allowed to drink yet but still.
Tonight though, I’m choosing to drink whiskey. And Jesus Christ, it’s awful.
Awful.
I hate it. But I hate him more. The guy because of whom I’m drinking this terrible creation.
Reed Jackson.
The liar. The guy who betrayed me and broke my heart.
He is here. Somehow. At my favorite bar.
I saw him standing in the middle of the crowded room, looking well and alive, not ten minutes ago. Looking like a dream.
What the fuck – fudge – is he doing here?
Okay, so I don’t curse. Well, at least I try not to. Because again, I’ve got four brothers who curse enough for the rest of the humanity. So I try to be a lady when I can.
But it’s okay. I’m drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, aren’t I? So I can curse like a sailor too.
I can curse and call him names, all the bad fucking names that I can think of because how the fuck is he here tonight?
How. The. Fuck?
Shouldn’t he be away, at college?
He goes to college in New York City because that’s where all the rich kids from our town go, apparently. And it’s not even holiday season. It’s fucking September. People have classes in September.
What the fuck is he doing here in fucking September? That