Blades

We lay in my back garden, slightly damp blades of green grass cooling our backs as the mid-July sun beats down on our stomachs. Ray Bans shielding our eyes to prevent crows feet, earphones in our ears connected to our iPods, large glasses of wine & lemonade at our sides, my summer feels as though it's going according to plan. I smile as my fingers twist blades of grass by my sides, pulling bunches out rhythmically yet out of time with the music resounding round my head at maximum volume. She hasn't cried for a few days and has been eating normally, yet I am aware that beneath her dark glasses lay empty eyes, bare of mascara and eyeliner and irritated from fierce rubbing every time tears threaten. She is quiet. Contented, I hope, but I doubt it. I wonder when the talkative, excitable Isobel will return but stop thinking before I, once again, feel guilty for my actions. I justify to myself once more whilst listening to the Kings Of Leon's 17, that if I hadn't taken such drastic measures, she'd be by his side this summer, not mine. And as I feel her smooth, clammy hand clasp mine and see her face stretch into a smile as I turn to her, I know that all of the pain and guilt have been worth it.