By Ale-Alejandro

There are moments in life where you are blessed by pure euphoria.

No, not some religious “nirvana” or whatever you think I must be talking about. Just moments where you are so purely happy and the world is at peace. At any time these moments can crash; beauty killed in seconds. Yet, these moments are something to live for.

Reaching the top of the mountain was not one of those moments. Seeing Alejandro standing with his model of my body, it was far from those moments. I couldn’t help but just snap. Three seasons. Three seasons with psycho McLean and people I just honestly did not like, three seasons of manipulating and lying to work my way closer, three seasons of getting my damn head shaved. Three seasons now absolutely wasted by a guy who just floated through it all.

It’s not fair. I really doubt anyone on national television enjoys watching Heather sit on rocks and smash herself into a million little pieces. How embarrassing to act human in public like that. Soon I’ll be home and I’ll never hear the end of this, of what I’m doing right now. No. This is not Heather. I almost pick myself back up until I see Alejandro’s hesitation.

Why is he hesitating? A million dollars are right there. But then I realize this is my chance. So, like a good Heather – a true Heather – I put on a show. He looks me in the eyes as I stumble over my words. He accuses me of liking him, as always. He can’t help the fact that for once a girl is just not that into him. Well, maybe. There’s those eyes and those lips and the way his acc- no. No, there is a girl who doesn’t fall for it. There’s me – Heather. I’m much better than that. Much, much better.

He talks very loudly, nearly at a scream. “Admit it. You’re in love with me.” I glare at him. He can’t just assume my feelings like that. What if I’m not in love with him? I almost laugh, but I resist. Yet something about the way the words just drip off his tongue…

I mess up. I stutter. “What? I don’t love you, I love-.“ I catch myself. What am I saying? No, that’s not what I meant. “Er, hate! I mean I hate you.” But do I love him? Why on Earth would I say that? Was that I slip of the tongue or something done on purpose? Chris’s words blur into the background as Alejandro does something outrageous – confesses actual love.

He doesn’t mean it, right? I refuse to get caught in his web. I’m not letting myself twist and turn under his powerful lies and his silly and stupid idea of love. “He doesn’t mean it”, I convince myself. “He doesn’t. He won’t. He never will.”

But it drowns as his lips fall on to mine, tasting of spice and a passion I haven’t felt before. He slips his tongue in rather forcefully and oddly but my entire body freezes. This isn’t Heather. I try to will myself to pull away but I can’t. We’re interlocked and his body is forced into mine.

A true Heather doesn’t show emotion, a true Heather will stop at nothing to win.

So I, like a true Heather, jerk my knee up, and watch as Alejandro falls off the volcano on a block of ice. He’s slipping and slipping, becoming a tinier dot to me. I stand above him, a winner, while he falls. Euphoria.

Do not ask me if I love him anymore, as you seem to continually do. I do not love him, do not. And if you do, I will convince you of the fact better than I seem to be convincing myself. I might love him, but you will never know.

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