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She’d look at me when I threw paper at her in class. She’d try not to, of course, try to make sure I wouldn’t get the satisfaction. But when has anyone been able to deny me pleasure, or anything else for that matter? Oh, I saw the way her blonde bun got a little messier with each day, her eyes redder, her voice quieter. She’d stop raising her hand in class, stop doodling in her notebook, stop saying hi to people in the hallway. And then after the third or fourth flung ball, she’d look at me. Desperate. Pleading. I’d always return a pretty smile to her, but in my chest I’d be vibrating. Electric. Is this how it feels to receive a prayer? To deny a disciple? Well, it feels fucking incredible.
She glared at me in the bathroom once, through her tears and her arms as she barreled out the door. Can you believe it? I never thought I’d ever see something like rage from such a soft face. Courtney thought the teasing had gone too far, but honestly I didn’t think I went far enough. Like, how the fuck is Kate “Abstinence Club” Marsh going to put herself out like that, get that fucking wasted, mack on that many douchey football freaks and bimbo cheerleader chicks, and not expect me to keep piling it on? Doesn’t she know who I am? Doesn’t anyone? Do you know she didn’t even talk to me at that party - which, let me just say, I personally invited her to? She had time to stick her tongue all the way down Dana’s throat but couldn’t even spare two fucking seconds for me? Her fault, her problem. Obviously. Besides, if it bugged her so much she should have knocked on my door and told me how I made her feel. Make up for practically ghosting me.
She stared at me when she was up on that roof. At least, I think she did; she was so far away but I bet she was looking at me. It was raining - pouring, really, my clothes got fucked up - and she looked like a ghost up there. Too far away from me. Ridiculous. I remember I laughed and laughed, and I took out my phone because I needed Kate captured and I laughed and she stepped forward and suddenly I was up there and I could see through her eyes and I didn’t want to die I didn’t want her to die oh fuck is she going to die is she going to jump why are people filming this why are people laughing at her. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t move except to look at her and she wasn’t looking at me why wasn’t she looking at me please look at me Katie I need you to look at me again because I’m scared you don’t see me right now I’m so fucking terrified-
She gazed at me in the hospital. Well, she gazed at my letter(she sent me one back saying thank you!!!!). I couldn’t go in to see her, to grovel at her feet for forgiveness, not after how she looked at me. I had work to do. I had to change, to become better for her. I’m fucking Victoria Chase - I’m not going to let a single fucking person tell me I didn’t step up, that I didn’t put in the fucking work. I’m gonna put in the work, whatever the fuck it is. I don’t have time to make a plan - when Kate gets out of the hospital in two weeks I’m gonna be ready. No more rooftops - she’s going to look at me with adoration. She’s going to love me. My angel of redemption. Mine. I hope she cries for me.
She stared at me through my computer as I watched Mr. Jefferson’s trial. Technically she was staring at him, but I’d understand if she looked at me like that after everything I did to her. I’d expect that. Want that. She got so torn up when he took the stand that apparently someone heard retching in the bathroom later. I don’t blame her. I hope I never made her barf, though, Jesus. How much did I push her? Why aren’t I in there with her eyes on me? Fucking Jefferson gets her attention and I’m just stuck in my room, eyes glazed over from WikiHow articles on how to “build empathy”. Does this bullshit even help people? If it’s for her then it’s worth it. I don’t want redemption if it’s not her absolving me. I’m going to change and she’s going to see me. She’s going to really see me.
She looks at me every single day in the hallway now. We made amends in a slurry of apologies that I barely remember and now she waves hi to everybody she knows like she did before. She looks at me like she looks at everyone else and it makes me sick. Doesn’t she know who she is? Doesn’t she know what she means to me? She said I was forgiven when she saw me again and I smiled and the only thing I felt when she wrapped her arms around me was greed. I wanted to never let go, to dig my perfect nails into her sinless skin. Maybe I could have actually given her something to remember me by. Maybe if I had treated her worse a month ago her forgiveness would be more meaningful, more substantial. Maybe she would look at me now, really look at me, and be proud of how far I had come. Maybe if I had hurt her more I would’ve been Victoria Chase. I should’ve twisted the knife. I should’ve twisted the knife. I should’ve twisted it. I should’ve twisted it. I should’ve twisted it.