You look at her, sitting on your bed, legs crossed, a sushi box in her dainty hand. Even through those dead eyes and heavy mascara you could see your girlfriend staring right at you. She was scared, and you knew exactly what to do.
Seven months ago, last game of the season. Your girlfriend wasn't head cheerleader, but she was damn good- and someone took note, because exactly that day the real head cheerleader called in sick- and your girl was picked out to take her place. You sat next to her on the bleachers, as she look up at you, her blue eyes signaling the distress she was feeling. "What if I screw up? What if I make a foo-", you grab her waist, pull her in closer, and kiss her for several, blissful moments.
Your lips part, and you look at her expressionless face with a reassuring smile. She seems calmer, and you could swear you even saw a faint smile on her black, glossy lips. You brush her straight, jet-black hair, gently. The air is filled with smells of makeup and a perfume you didn't recognize. "Thanks. I needed that.", she finally says, her monotone voice sounding exactly the same as before. But this time it was so quiet... it's almost inaudible, even when you're sitting on the bed beside her, "But..."