TRISTAN ANDREWS
Clementine Bennet, my fiancé.
A paragon of perfection; it's her impeccable poise and grace that elevate her to a realm of unparalleled allure.
"She's literally perfect!" Cameron exclaimed, whilst I simply shook my head, swirling the glass of whiskey in my hand.
"She's too perfect."
In truth, she is little more than a hollow shell. To me, she's like a well-worn tune played on repeat, her perfection a tiresome melody that fails to stir any emotion beyond a vague sense of ennui.
Her slender figure, though undeniably attractive, lacks the imperfections and idiosyncrasies that lend character to a person's appearance. Each movement she makes is executed with a precision that borders on robotic, her every gesture a rehearsed dance performed for an audience of admirers.
"In other words, she's too plain." I muttered in conclusion, taking a sip of the whiskey whilst Cameron simply shook his head in resignation.
In a world that thrives on chaos and imperfection, Clementine's unwavering perfection is like a beacon of monotony—a constant reminder of the sameness that permeates every aspect of modern life. Her existence offers no surprises, no moments of spontaneity or unpredictability to break the monotony of the everyday.
The next morning, I woke up with a throbbing headache, the aftermath of one too many drinks the night before. Groaning, I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand and dialed Cameron's number.
"Get me some Advil," I mumbled into the receiver, not bothering to wait for a response before ending the call and collapsing back onto my pillow.
Minutes ticked by sluggishly, the pounding in my head matching the rhythm of my racing thoughts. Suddenly, a series of insistent knocks shattered the fragile silence of my room. With a heavy sigh, I forced myself out of bed, my limbs feeling like lead as I shuffled toward the door.
"Cameron, you—" better have brought those Advils. I began, my words catching in my throat as I swung the door open. Standing before me was not Cameron, not anyone else but Clementine.
She stared dazedly before immediately averting her gaze, the tip of her ears slowly turning red. Is she shy?
'Cute.'
"Here," she said softly, her cheeks tinged with a rosy blush as she extended the box toward me. "I brought you breakfast."
Cute? I really need to do something about this hungover, it's messing with my head.
Clementine stood before me in her floral dress, the delicate patterns weaving a tapestry of color against the backdrop of my dimly lit apartment. Her caramel brown locks cascaded in gentle waves down her back, framing her delicate features.
"C-can I come in?" she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with uncertainty. For a moment, I hesitated, unsure of what to make of her unexpected visit. But then, with a silent nod, I stepped aside.
As I made my way to my room, the gentle click of the door closing echoed softly in the hallway. Glancing at the nightstand, I noticed my phone illuminated with a message from Cameron
:cant.head.pain.
Ignoring his message, I headed for the bathroom to take a shower. I reached for the faucet, twisting it to its coldest setting, allowing the icy water to cascade over me.
With each droplet that fell, I felt a sense of clarity wash over me, the fog of the previous night's indulgence slowly lifting.
After our meal, Clementine suggested a stroll in the park. Remembering our agreement, I reluctantly consented. As we stepped outside, the cool breeze brushed against my skin. The park greeted us with open arms, its lush greenery a welcome contrast to the concrete jungle we had just left behind. The sound of birds chirping filled the air, accompanied by the distant laughter of children playing.
As we strolled along the winding paths, I couldn't help but notice the diverse array of activities unfolding around us. Joggers pounded the pavement with determined strides, their rhythmic footfalls echoing in the quietude of the park. Families spread out picnic blankets under the shade of towering trees, the smell of freshly cut grass mingling with the aroma of homemade sandwiches and fruit.
Dogs of all shapes and sizes frolicked in the grass, their tails wagging with unbridled joy as they chased after tennis balls and frisbees thrown by their owners. The occasional bark punctuated the tranquil atmosphere, adding to the charm of our surroundings.
Couples walked hand in hand, lost in quiet conversation or sharing stolen glances and tender smiles, their casual intimacy a stark contrast between the stiff and awkward atmosphere between me and Clementine.
None of us spoke, even as we got back to my apartment where a sleek Cadillac was waiting for her. As the driver opened the door, she hesitated for a moment before turning to me, "See you tonight?"
"Alright."