How was your first love/relationship/crush and why it ended?
(Warning: extremely long, filled with angst and no happy ending because that's the way it works in reality)
We're worlds apart in so many ways.
He's always been the better one. The smarter one. The popular one. The sweeter one.
Me? I'm just a fool playing a fool's game. Every time he's around, even if it's halfway across the room and surrounded by other people, completely unaware of my presence, it still makes my heart rate go crazy and my palms a little sweaty.
It's gross. After all these years I've let myself be reduced to some pathetic lovesick puppy. All because of this one stupid boy who has no idea that he made this one stupid girl fall head over heels for his stupid crooked smile.
Ugh. Look at what you've turned me into into. It's way past midnight now and all I can do is pour out my guts to strangers I'll never meet because I know I can never do it to his face.
And I shouldn't.
We're worlds apart- and that isn't just a lame cliche metaphor. We just aren't the same.
We don't have the same ancestors, we aren't the same people. One was born here, one came over across the seas.
We don't look the same. One's tall and confident, a real poster boy. The other one's small, insignificant and insecure.
"Well rounded" doesn't even begin to describe him. He's a history geek who could rattle on for hours about the Vietnam war and his veteran grandfather with that stupid smile on his face. Get this: he codes for fun.
I've never been to any of his games-I've never understood them or really had an excuse to go to them-but I've heard enough to realise that he isn't just a ‘smart' kid. Apparently the guy who gets weak at the knees when it comes to miniatute model WWII aircraft is a "fucking beast on the field".
Of course. Of course he couldn't settle with just the 120% probability of getting onto the honor roll. Now this brought him out to a whole other league.
I don't know if that makes it better or worse. I don't like the fact that everyone knows him. Or the that fact everyone adores him.
It's bad, I know, but I can't help but wish that he was some scrawny loser with no friends. Life would be a lot less complicated then.
But he's not. He's too nice for that. Too happy. There's no reason why you wouldn't want to be friends with the guy. You don't often come across someone as genuine as him.
I guess this is the point where I grudgingly admit that perhaps he's not too bad on the eyes either. No wonder that there's practically a cult based solely on worshiping every inch of him.
So I doubt I'm the only pathetic fucker who's fallen into this infatuation rabbit hole.
And I don't blame them. He's absolutely perfect in every single way. And I hate that, because it only makes me want him even more.
If I could go back in time I wouldn't stop any national or global disaster. No, like the selfish bitch I am, I'd go back to the day I stumbled into class late- on the first day nonetheless, like the idiot I am-and sheepishly slid into the the first seat I came across. Right up front next to the teacher. And him.
BIGGEST. MISTAKE. EVER. There was no seating plan so that left only one reason why no one was sitting there. It was obviously being saved for someone else. Like a friend. Not a random kid, still confused and disoriented on her third day.
And, like the idiot I am, I thumped down onto the chair, out of breath and red in the face without even taking in the surroundings. It's weird how a detail as small as where you sit could seem so important in the fish pond that is high school.
But he didn't breathe a word. He didn't make a snarky comment about how he was saving the seat for an MIA friend or outright tell me to move. He just smiled and said hey.
I didn't bother replying except for a weird nod thing (criiinge) and looked away. It was only one side glance but I'd pretty much made my mind up about what kind of person he was. An asshole. Dumb. Fake. Maybe it was the fact that he way too happy to be in history that early in the morning. Or maybe it was the audacity he had to say hi. Whatever it was, I hated him straight off the bat.
In case it isn't painfully obvious yet, social interactions really ain't my forte. I sometimes stutter when I talk, and I find it hard to look people I'm not 150% comfortable with in the eyes. It's not cute or enamouring, it's just downright embarrassing. It's partly due to the way I was raised (pretty conservative religious culture= little to no contact with certain types of people cough guys cough), and partly because I've never tried to change.
That meant having little to no clue how to interact with people. Even people like him. And that led to me lashing out and being a snarky bitch yet still insisting on having the "high ground" while judging people straight away based on their appearance.
Yeah, he looked like someone who'd make a couple ISIS/"goat fuckers" joke that most boys his age seemed to love so much.
Thankfully he was the complete opposite.
I'm not sure when I started to fall for him. It was the small things he did that started to chip away at the wall.
I loved the way he talked, quiet and dignified (well at least in class). I loved the way he always looked out for other people, from little JV kids that the rest of his teammates treated like shit to that clueless sub who was this close to having a meltdown (most of our class were a pain in the ass to control, so I don't blame the poor woman).
I loved the way that though he was so insanely intelligent and talented at everything, he never once rubbed it in our faces. Instead he went the extra mile, even taking time out during lunch(!) just to tutor literally anyone who wanted help.
I loved his voice and the way it sped up every time he got excited. Honestly, I wouldn't mind spending an entire day just listening to him talk about Mayan human sacrificial methods.
Come to think of it, I've never seen him be an outright dick to anyone before. He went out of his way to make other people feel better.
I still remember that one time I stomped by him in the hallway, fuming since I found out my supposed best friend had been going behind my back and starting disgusting rumours (but hey that's a story for another time). He called out and said he liked my scarf. I don't quite remember what colour it was but I remember that I called him gay.
You know what he did? You know what he fucking did?
And his smile oh my god. It got me every fucking time. It was lopsided and cute, and in that moment I finally looked close enough to realise he had dimples. My knees were weak.
"See you in history."
And he just walks away. Just like that.
Yes, I was ashamed of myself. Yes, I know I'm a horrible bitch and being angry didn't excuse me from lashing out at someone who wasn't even involved. But like before, he didn't say anything. He had enough tact to realise the situation and went out of his way to keep it as friendly and neutral as possible. It would've been so so easy to make a sly dickish comment concerning the rumours (since as this point I guess SnakeFace has churned her story through the entire school) especially considering the fact i'd literally just called him "gay" (a horrible thing, I admit. "Gay" should never be insinuated as an insult).
But he didn't.
That was the first lesson he taught me. I thought back carefully over my actions during the last few weeks. The realisation hit me like a truck. All those days I spent ignoring SnakeFace while she was going through a very difficult period in her life, often resorting to making bitchy comments to her face and generally being scummy. Then add the final punch to the gut: I kissed her and left her.
No wonder she hated me.
Once we'd both cooled off a few weeks later, I decided to meet up with her to talk it out. Five minutes in and we'd both been reduced to sobbing and clutching each other and wailing apologies for being a shitty friend.
Maybe it doesn't seem like such a big thing, but to someone who was so used to completely cutting off anyone she remotely disliked from her entire life, it was something completely new. "Apologising and trying to sort things out in a productive manner"? Never heard of it.
I couldn't comprehend just how much of an impact those four words from all those days ago had made until my newly re-acquired best friend pointed it out.
"You've changed." About time.
"That's probably the most mature thing you've done this last year." The truth hurts.
"It's because of [his name] right?"
I froze up. Deny deny deny. But where was the lie?
It was crazy to realise that there was someone out there who had so much powerover me- and yet he was so oblivious to it.
It sound so lame on paper but those four words, "See you in history," had somehow...changed me? Inspired me? Whatever it was, it was still weird.
"So it's true? You really do..."
Deny deny deny.
"Well I guess it's better than taking home a girl."
We both laughed but I could still hear the bitter undertones in her forced chuckle. A Muslim girl taking her girlfriend home to an orthodox family that believes gays were a genetic abomination and deserved to get scourged from the face of the planet? Perhaps not the best idea.
"And you were so sure that you swung the other way. Batted for the other team. Who would've thought [he] would be the one to turn you straight?"
That sounded so absurd I threw a chip at her. As if.
Then I thought about it a bit more. He wasn't like any guy I'd ever come across before. He wasn't rude or crass and he thought with the head up there. Come to think of it, I'd never heard anyone mention a girlfriend.
Some said it was because he was gay. Others said it was just because his family were hardcore Mormons.
I know, it's terrible, but damn was I happy when I realised that.
The more I found out about him, the more I felt like I was looking into a mirror and seeing a better version of myself.
It hit me then. Perhaps I really had fallen for him. Hard.
I was still reeling from the revelation as we threw away our cold coffees and parted ways. Growing up with such an "anti-boy" mentality instilled into me as a child had led to some pretty big repercussions on my family's part (i.e. I preferred fish tacos over hot dogs). I didn't really have many male friends (not allowed them anyway) and the few I did have were completely and utterly gay, and I loved them all in the most platonic sense possible. Not to mention all those encounters I had with stupid ass boys at other schools making stupid ass comments hadn't exactly helped either.
So why him of all people. Why did just the mention of him kickstart a little wildfire in my tummy?
And if you've barely made it through this horror show so far, now is probably a good time to stop. What happened next could only be considered a horrible hellish rendition of every shitty C-grade high school movie ever made. I still don't believe it.
Once I'd finished up with my friend, I had to go pick up my little brother since I didn't have work today. Every Saturday, like clockwork, from 11:30 to exactly 14:35 he stays at his only other friend's house.
Now my little brother is another special case. He was diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome as well as photosensitive epilepsy which as you can imagine has fucked up his life and development as a child. Like his sister, he's overwhelmed by social settings (but he actually has a real reason to be), often becoming distressed or distressing others since he has little to no clue how to act in certain situations. I feel bad for the little guy. He's truly such a smart kid. He didn't deserve any of it. Especially the bullying. Kids can be so fucking heartless.
So I go over-like clockwork- to the park near his friend's house at exactly 14:35 like he always insists (we were told that some aspies are often very reliant on a strict routine to help them cope and any sort of deviation or change can greatly unsettle them, and it wasn't just them being a "difficult" child). By now his friend would've gone home and he'd be finishing up on the jungle gym like he always does.
When I rounded the corner, I was faced with the nightmare of every parent and older sibling.
My little baby brother- those fuckers had him pinned to the ground in and they were shining a strobing flashlight directly in his eyes. One was videoing the entire thing as he went into a tonic-clonic seizure.
I never knew he was getting bullied to this extent and he never breathed a word about it. We only later found out those bastards were in his school, a few grades above him,and probably the typical loser types who peaked at middle school.
The rest kind of past in a blur. I never moved faster in my life when I saw his limbs jerking and his eyes roll back and my little brother laid on the cold tarmac.
I screamed myself hoarse that day. The fact that someone had gone out of their way to trigger a seizure in my brother was something I couldn't even fathom. I could feel his little body all stiff as he laid unresponsive for what seemed like forever while those little bastards laughed.
You know how shitty that feels? Knowing that I don't failed to do the one job I had? I couldn't even protect my own brother. What the fuck kind of sister was I?
Unfortunately I'm not really the intimidating type, especially compared to these mutant 14 year olds. It looked like I was the 14 year old. I wanted to hurt them so bad, but I had no way of doing it.
So imagine my surprise when the one who flashed the light let out a squeak and took a couple steps back. Fear flashed across his face, like as if he was debating about whether to make a run for it.
Maybe it the look of pure hatred in my face. Or maybe it was something behind me.
It must've been quite the sight. Me, face streaked with angry tears as I clutched a little boy sprawled out on the floor.
In all those months I'd known him, I'd never once seen him get mad. After that day I prayed I'd never see that again.
I don't really want to go into much detail-can't even remember much since I was too busy waiting desperately for my little brother to come around again and then get the fuck out of there-but it was nasty.
I guess it wasn't a rare occurrence, those middle schoolers being pieces of shit, since he instantly zeroed in on the one with the flashlight. I didn't realise why back then.
But of course it had to be his younger brother. Fate, you cruel twisted bitch.
I didn't see it but I heard the spine shivering ‘crunch' when he knocked his brother round the head. And that was it.
I don't think you can call CPS on a 16 year old, right? But god, I almost pitied his brother.
Actually, that's a lie. I loved it. Even if it was only a third of the humiliation and pain my brother suffered because of him.
But it was scary as well. His anger wasn't red hot or loud like mine. It was controlled. He had grabbed his brother by the head and pulled him in close before bending his neck to stare his brother in the eyes. His voice was low enough that I couldn't hear what he said but the look on his brother's pertrified face was enough to tell me it wasn't exactly rainbows and sunshine.
I made the mistake of making accidental eye contact and boy, I'd hate to ever be on the receiving end of whatever the hell that was.
At that moment, I was scared. Genuinely and truly scared. Like the "I think I just pissed myself" type of scared. A one second glance was enough to put the fear of hell back in me. I swear, I had never feared death as much as I did right then.
When my brother started coming around, I hauled him up and tried to nope the fuck out of there.
And just like before, he shouted after me. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't genuine concern, he was just worried we'd try to sue them. Obviously.
And just like before, I did what I do best and lashed out again. I screamed at them to fuck off and flipped the bird.
I know, I hate myself too. Especially after I saw the look in his face. There wasn't a hint of demonic anger or whatever there was before, but he didn't smile either. He didn't smile at me like he did all those weeks ago.
He just looked...disappointed.
And that's what hurt the most. I'd disappointed him. A guy I'd talked with about five times in the last year, and yet it was his approval I needed, I craved, all the while treating him like shit.
But it was too late. We rounded the corner as I half-dragged my stumbling brother home.
My mom wailed and hugged my brother close. My dad talked about filing an assault lawsuit.
And I cried myself to sleep that night remembering the way he look at me. I wished I could go back, take a moment to breathe. I should've thanked him. Even though it was his shitty brother who stated the entire thing, they would've gone farther if he hadn't showed up. I wasn't naive to think I could have done anything to stop them.
It was all because of him. He didn't have to do that. No one would've found out. No one would've cared. But he did.
And I told him to fuck off.
I honestly didn't think I could've been any more mortified. When school started I'd spent three days successfully avoiding him. Until history.
We'd settled into our own ‘seating plan'. I'd migrated to the back where I could eat without the teacher realising next to this other girl who also loved GoT and shared the same horrible dark humour. It was great, since he always sat at the front so there was always a massive gap between us = maximum avoidance. It was a win win in my eyes.
The chair next to me scraped and I turned to smile at the girl.
He only just stared back, impassive. I'd never seen his eyes look so empty before. Suddenly, the disappointment from before didn't seem so bad.
Then he sat down. Next to me.
Something inside of me combusted. Bet I looked like a toasted tomato at that point.
My parents had already contacted my brother's middle school. Of course they already knew about the bullying and chose to do NOTHING until those little fuckers literally put his life in danger. They only "punished" three of the five boys who were at the park (including the flashlight kid), and even then it was was only a two week suspension and a written apology to my brother.
Isn't the education system such a blessing? Those half assed "apologies" made my blood boil.
It was just another reason to avoid him, but he only went and screwed that up.
But what could I do? Tell him to get out the seat because I was saving it for someone else? That wouldn't be hypocritical at all.
I was pretty quiet, not used to being in the limelight during class, so feeling everyone's eyes on me was enough to make me want to shrivel up and die.
It's stupid how something as insignificant as where you sit could cause such a ripple. And it was stupid of him to cause it all.
I shot the girl an apologetic look as she did a double take at the intruder in her seat. She just raised an eyebrow and begrudgingly sat at the front. He watched the entire thing with this infuriating stupid smirk on his face.
He asked if I minded him sitting there, knowing full well the answer. I shook my head, thinking about what an asshole he was.
Then he asked the weirdest question I'd ever heard, considering the context.
"What's [my brother's name] favourite number? Make it a big one."
How do you even respond to that? I tried to ignore him but he kept asking the same question over and over again until I snapped and said it was 103.7. Then he did it again.
I've already said (multiple times) what I think about his smile-it's fucking gorgeous and fills me with this weird tingly feeling.
But when he smirked-something inside of me curls up and dies. I hate it. It's so unlike him. It reminded me that no matter how much he tried, or how infatuated I was, he wasn't the saint, not truly, I'd made him out to be. He was still a 16 year old who had no qualms about throwing fists if he wanted to. And apparently having hardcore Mormon parents doesn't stop one from snorting coke or having one night stands (not going to lie, this kind of hurt even though i have no right to be). That did put a dent in the halo he had in my mind. But it turned out it didn't matter in the end. I'm still a fool for his love.
I almost dropped to my knees to thank god when our no-bullshit teacher rushed through the door. That meant no unnecessary contact until the end of the lesson when I packed up at lightening speed and rushed out the door without a backwards glance.
Was this supposed to happen? It was times like this that I honestly wished I wasn't in one of those terrible chick flicks I loved trash talking but secretly adored. It would be so much simpler.
But it wasn't. It was just in one big confusing web and I was slowly getting tangled in deeper and deeper into it's sticky depths.
Especially when flashlight boy showed up to his middle school the very next day- but outside the ground perimeters so he didn't violate his suspension- with seven massive tupperware boxes filled with individually frosted cupcakes, all for my brother.
No one had counted them but something told me there were exactly 103 cupcakes in there.
My brother had shared out the "I'm sorry" frosted cupcakes with the rest of his class and the flashlight boy after taking pity on him. He apparently had some serious eye bags and raw, blistered hands from baking up till 3AM.
I don't know how he knew or if it was just a lucky coincidence but my little brother is a slut for cupcakes. Especially lemon flavoured ones.
He brought back the 0.7 cupcake for me, a little mini one with a frosted heart on top. I briefly wondered if flashlight boy was trying to move onto my baby brother. But it was cute little cupcake. Like, really cute.
Strike two. The web had started constricting around my throat. Nothing made sense anymore.
I finally gained a shred of sense and realised that it was probably high time I apologised for being such a bitch considering everything I'd done. But I was also a coward, so I set some conditions:
Tomorrow would be the only day I'd be able to apologise, any later and it would seem "wierd". I had no classes with him that day either, so that gave me a 2% probability of bumping into him in the hallway and muttering a quick apology before darting off into the crowd.
I know. I'm one paranoid moron.
The school day passed without a hitch. No sight of him anywhere (since I was still "subconsciously" trying to avoid him aha). At the end of the exhausting seven hours I finally let down my guard. It was over as far as I was concerned so that meant I was off the hook. No further contact was ever needed again.
But I forgot that I lived in this twisted version of a highschool movie.
I'd missed a test the day behind and the school protocol was that you'd have to make up for it on your own time which often meant after school. Thankfully I wasn't the only one. So boom, another hour and half had gone by the time I made it out. Most of the students had cleared out of the school apart from anyone doing extracurricular activities.
Of COURSE I forgot that part.
There was no escape route. I'd seen him and he'd seen me. I remember briefly wondering if I could claim temporary blindness.
He just kind of stared me down. I hadn't realised it was raining outside until I saw his dripping hair. Plus the smell of rainwater mixed with sweat was hard to ignore. I guess they decided to have extra practice that day of all days? Whoo, me.
My feet moved on their own accord. Even my own body was against me, like the rest of the universe.
"Thanks. They were nice." Four dry, half-assed words.
His nod was just as enthusiastic. He carried on walking past me without a word.
His hair looked so good like that. I don't know why he kept gelling it up when he looked that fucking good without it, like as if he'd just got out the shower. That thought invited some interesting images into my thirsty mind.
I'm cringing just writing this out. Thank god for anonymous posts on Quora. I don't think I'd be able to keep all of this to myself without going mad or embarrassing myself.
He'd already disappeared from sight when I remembered that I'd forgot the one thing I'd set out to say today.
I briefly debated whether I should keep walking and put all these stupid fantasies behind me. Sure i'd live with crippling regret but there was nothing else to do.
Or I could make a complete fool of myself and run after him only to collapse in a sweaty heap and choke out a sorry.
You already know what I did-both of them.
By the time I'd fought with myself before chasing him down, he'd already made it to the car park on the opposite side of the school. I think they were waiting for a friend to give him and a few others a lift.
Which meant an audience.
The prospect of apologising in front of all those eyes made my gut churn.
I told you I was a coward. I still probably wouldn't have said sorry to this day if one of his friends hadn't spotted me glaring at them from the other side of the car park surrounded by bushes in the pouring rain.
If that doesn't scream creepy stalker then I don't know what does.
So that left me with two choices: run off and look like an even bigger fucking creep or make the walk to shame across the car park and grovel for forgiveness.
Gbjskskanja. I still think that fate was just being a sadistic asshole.
At least (most of them) tried their best not to make it so obvious that they were staring as I awkwardly shuffled closer. I remembered debating with myself like, "should I stare at the floor so I don't make any uncomfortable eye contact? But wouldn't that just make me look like a pussy?".
He didn't look up until I came to a stop in front of him. It felt like he was deliberately trying to make this as painfully excruciating as he could for me.
More than anything, at this point I just straight up wanted to slap his stupid face, but I probably couldn't even reach up that high. His eyes still seemed dead on the inside but he had that infuriating smirk as he watched me standing there looking like a drowned rat.
I mumbled an apology that went something like "I forgot to say sorry so uh, yeah sorry." I know, so smooth. I managed to stutter like four times as my anxiety came barrelling back with a vengeance.
But I forgot who I was talking to. He asked me to repeat it since he didn't "hear it". And then he told me to repeat it again. And again.
At this point all my earlier resolve had melted away. I don't know what had happened or if it was just to me but the sweet boy I'd sat next to history all those months ago had turned into the world's biggest asshole. Like as if I wasn't losing whatever dignity I had left stumbling over my words.
Then someone sniggered. Boom. Elementary school all over again. Me choking out what I did during the holidays when the teacher went around asking. I was stuck stuttering over one word for about 10 seconds and of course, kids being kids, made sure to repeat the humiliation. Everyone temporarily developed a stutter whenever they started talking to or about me.
The weird thing was that his friend that sniggered looked almost exactly like this one little asshole from elementary though I went to a school in a whole other state.
So yeah, repressed memories came rushing back and damn. I watched him look away like he was trying not to laugh. The sweetest guy I'd ever met. He laughed at me stuttering.
I blew it.
"Remember when your shitty brother and his what, five friends, held down this one little kid and blinded him with flashing lights? And then he had seizure because he was you know, fucking epileptic? Yeah, I tried to apologise for telling you to fuck off-watching someone laughing as your baby brother's on the floor having a seizure tends to make you a just a bit angry- but I admit that was the wrong and I shouldn't have done it. You didn't try to land an epileptic kid in hospital. And I'm standing in the fucking rain to apologise for that. I'm probably going to catch pneumonia and die because of you and what do you do? Laugh at someone stuttering in their third language like it's hilarious -funny considering some of you are barely passing English. Guess your brother isn't the only little bitch in the family."
It was such a cringy word vomit. A massacre of whatever respect I had left for myself. I somehow managed to double cancel the apology. Now I'd called him gay, told him to fuck off, called his little brother every name under the sun and then inadvertently called both his little brother and him a "little bitch".
It. Was. A. Mess.
Good thing I was already soaked in rain so you couldn't tell if it was snotty tears or water. I remember wishing I could just go back and give in to the small part of myself that told me, warned me, that something bad would happen.
Did I mention that I was stuck in a shitty teen flick?
Judging from the reactions from him friends, he forgot the mention the fact his brother was a sociopath.
I can't lie, it felt good. Sure it wasn't something that would completely ruin his reputation or lead to social suicide but DAMN it felt good seeing him being (slightly) embarrassed.
I couldn't see them but I knew his ears had turned red under hood of his superdry jacket (suspected hypebeast??). Don't ask me how I knew.
I think someone asked me a question. Someone else's phone buzzed. Something about their ride being a no show. Traffic?
But I didn't care about any of that. My eyes were solely on him as I saw silently willed him to look back. To stare me in the eyes and tell me exactly what he was thinking. The thought of him purposefully ignoring me stabbed through my gut like a red hot knife despite the fact that I was doing the exact same thing only earlier today.
I don't know what's wrong with me. I have so many fucking problems.
He finally spoke up, said something about getting adam, before turning to me. I'm not going to pretend I'm some psychic that can tell what people are thinking by looking into their eyes or some bullshit, but when it came to him, for some reason I can always tell. He looked tired. Come to think of it, it looked like there were bags under his eyes. He probably stayed up all night yesterday helping his brother bake.
I was the one who had to look away to stop myself from smiling. He gave me a wierd look before asking if my brother ended up ok.
I nodded as a reply-because I'm not trying to look desperate you know. Then he asked if my brother liked the 103.7 cupcakes.
Ok this time I couldn't hold back the smile, thinking back to the 0.7 cupcake with the frosted heart.
"Yeah, we all loved them. Especially the baby one."
He told me he made that one.
I told him I thought it was cute. (I thought he looked cuter with his eyes all screwed up as he rambled on about how it was a pain in the ass getting the measurements exactly right to get that perfect oh point seven).
For the first time in weeks he smiled. At me. Me.
God I missed his smile so bad. You don't know what you had till you lose it. It was so beautiful I could feel my breath hitch-cringe overload. But it was true. That's what he did to me. One smile and I was a goner.
Honestly, I wouldn't have minded if he took me right there. Fucked me right there in the car park and made me scream his name to high heavens. On the ground, bent over a car, or in front of the his friends and any janitors, at that moment I didn't give a shit where, i just wanted him. Preferably deep in me with his cold hands running up and down my skin. My horny ass only cared about getting fucked bloody and left bruised and sore like I'd dreamt about so so so many times before.
God I hadn't realised just how much I missed everything about him. Keep in mind the only thing he'd done was smile. Smile.
I can feel the heat in my face just re-reading what i write. My subconscious scares me.
Somehow this boy had become my everything. I'm not lying when I say I would've gladly given up every single inch of my heart, soul and body if he asked. I think I'd still do that.
I'd do anything for him no matter how much I hated it. I wanted to be his one and only so bad it actually hurt. I just wanted to be one that he wanted.
I think I must've zoned out for a while, just taking in the sight of him.
His lips were swollen. I didn't even know lips could get bruised like that. They looked like they'd be nice to suck on. But he desperately needed chapstick.
I'm sorry I keep straying. This is already so damn long. It's just that I can never forget the little details, they're always at the forefront of my mind.
I'd snapped out of it in time to hear him ask me if I was wet (since it was still raining, but that's just how it is in _____). He had no idea.
Because my jumper wasn't waterproof obviously.
And like every cliche "boyfriend move" he asked if I wanted his jacket since I was going to bike home (he knew that!). As much as I wanted to scream YES at the top of my lungs I knew I'd end up in an accident because my emotionally starved ass would spend too much time smelling his jacket instead on concentrating on the road.
I just told him I didn't want to marinate in the stench of his sweat. When he threw his head back and laughed, I'm pretty sure my ovaries simultaneously exploded.
His adorable laugh still gets me every time.
So I noped out of there before I ended up doing something stupid. Maybe I'm projecting but I swear I could feel his eyes on me as I scampered away. Probably just laughing at me.
That was the last time I really "talked" to him. The next year and half or so was pretty uneventful. We have AP Literature together now but it's all pretty vanilla. We're still on opposite sides of the class. He's pretty quiet, keeping to friends and books-and that's fine. I'm doing my best not to get in his way. He's really knuckled down this year though I know he'd still end up as valedictorian if he did jackshit.
I still kind of dislike the fact that he's so smart, but I'm in awe of his intense dedication.
And even if he never speaks to me again in these last few months I have left with him, I've made my peace.
He's the most amazing person I've ever come across and I'm so lucky to have met him. They're dry words but I mean every single syllable. He's taught me so much in the short while I've known him. I'm not as much of a bitter bitch with serious anger issues now. I still remember what he did for my little brother and "See you in history", and I've always tried to emulate his characteristics to save myself and other people from unnecessary drama. (Not always successful but I'm working on it).
But no matter how much I delude myself I know just how much it'll hurt when we "part" ways. He probably doesn't even remember my name but I know I'll remember him, the way his smile is lopsided on the right, the way the skin around his eyes crinkle when he really really laughs but most of all I'll never ever forget the intensity of his eyes and how they had a way of making me feel things I shouldn't.
But there's no reason pining after something you know you'll never be able to have. He's getting shipped off to boot camp straight after graduation. He wants to travel the world, serve his country, follow in his family's footsteps, etc etc. I still think he's wasted on the marines.
And my parents have accepted a proposal for me from someone back home. He's 12 years older than me, and a widower, but he has status and influence. Not accepting it would have been a "dishonour". Social suicide in a culture where daughters are an expendable commodity for some false convuluted sense of "family honour".
I'm still reeling. They hadn't breathed a word about it. They had left me completely in the dark. They accepted someone I have absolutely no interest in as my husband without my consent. It's crazy isn't it? I was left with no choice or voice about who I'd have to spend the rest of my life with, who I'd have to sleep with. And here I was prepping for college and a career.
I've only seen him once, when he came over to the country for a "business affair". He was as crooked and nasty as I'd dreamt about in my nightmares. I hated his wiry beard, I hated his orange betel-stained teeth, and I hated the way his eyes roved up and down. His leer makes me physically sick to the core. He asked to see my hair, to touch it.
He tugged hard enough that tears sprung to my eyes. I think I know why his first wife committed suicide now.
By the time he'd finally gotten his bony looming figure out the door after shaking my father's hand-like it was some sort of business transaction-I broke down. I screamed myself insane, throwing everything my hands could come in contact with until they finally locked me in my room and told me they'd pull me out of high school early if I continued making a scene. That shut me up.
I've never felt so alone in this world. I'm still crying. The only other person who gets me is my brother. He picked up where I left off and argued, bribed, threatened and cursed until my father shut him up in a way most men do with their sons.
I feel like shit. Not only did I fuck up my life, I've caused my baby brother to suffer-once again. He's only 13, what could he possibly do? But seeing him stand up for me when no one else did caused my heart to swell. Despite everything, I know he's going to turn out to be a better man than anyone in our family could ever dream of being. The girl that gets him in the end is going to be the second luckiest woman in the world.
But that's just how it is. All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and entrances.
This is my part, and this is where I have to exit. I've had my fun now it's time for me to bow out and accept what was predestined for me far before the thought of my being was even conceived. I've thought about running away, abandoning ship, but I know just how badly that would boomerang back on my little brother. My brave, sweet brother who isn't quite-so-little anymore. It's better if I go along meekly so he doesn't suffer the same fate (though hopefully he'll get the better end of the stick, emerging into our type of world as a male).
We all have our parts to play. This is mine.
And one must, in their time, play many parts.
I played the idiotic young girl who pined after an unrequited love, I'll play at being a meek wife and I'll play mother to my seven future children I'll have probably before I even hit 30.
But no matter how hard I try, I'll never play at being his. I'll never be able to touch him, feel him on me, skin on skin. I'll never be there for the days he wants to give up and end it all. I'll never be there on the happiest day of his life. I don't want to be there when another woman marks him as her own.
It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. But there's nothing I can do.
No matter what happens, I only wish him the best. You're the best thing that's ever happened in my sad pathetic life. I'll probably be a grandmother by the time you decide to settle down with that perfect woman I know you're destined to be with. Or you might be dead by the time I sign the nikah and my worst nightmare marks me as his own. Or maybe I'll be the dead one while my living nightmare moves onto the next wife. Or maybe we'll both end up dead.
Or maybe you'll see me one day, in a land foreign to us both. You'll glimpse me surrounded by my children for a second in the dusty marketplace. You're not sure who it is but she looks...familiar. Or maybe it's just that everyone around here looks the same. You're not sure, and the heat is driving you crazy. You're sweating bullets under your helmet but you soldier on because that's just the type of person you aren't. Besides that can't be her, she's halfway across the world and you're pretty sure she hasn't been knocked up thirteen times already.
But you're wrong. You're so fucking wrong. WHY CANT YOU SEE THAT.
All I've ever wanted was that fairytale ending. No matter how many times I scoffed when we watched those Disney Princess movies, I secretly held onto the fantasty that someone-anyone- would swoop into my sad gray world and fill it with colour. We'd both run away together. Just the two of us. Me and you. You and me. But that would destroy your life. I have too much fucking baggage for you.
You're not mine. You never were. You never will be. I hate you for it. I want you even more. I don't want to be his wife. I just want you WHY CANT YOU SEE THAT.
You saw me come in an ugly welt across my wrist. I tried to cover it up, but you still saw it for a split second. You spent more time glancing over at me than you did on your comparative essay. I know you did, I could feel your glare sticking to my skin even through all those layers.
But I ran off before you could ask. I never like sticking around after our lit teacher dismisses us. The less time I spend being suffocated by your presence, the easier it'll be for me when I finally leave for good.
But it makes me want you even more.
I wish you could see that.
Prom's coming up. You never like going to that kind of thing so I wouldn't put it past you to skip senior prom. I am. My engagement is soon. I guess I can wear a pretty dress then. I'll go to bed early on prom night and dream up another world, a paradise, where you kiss me hard under the blue lights and whisper in my ear that you'll never let anyone hurt me again.
The real you is probably going to get high and fuck three girls at once as a final "fuck you" to your parent's conservative values. But you'll still make sure they get home safe after you fuck their brains out since your parents always told you to look out for others.
Or maybe I'm just jumping to conclusions in my silent jealous rage. Maybe the real you will also be at home, dreaming about someone you know you'll never have. Who is she? I know I already hate her.
I miss you. That's why I spent three days writing up this toxic mess, trying to flush you out my system like spoiled milk. It's hard, because you taste so much like sweet honey.
I hope you don't have Quora-though it seems like your kind of thing. But there's still a small part of me that fervently wishes you do. I can imagine you typing away until 3AM coming up with reels of long essays, trying to formulate the perfect answer for someone's question about Gato-class submarines or whatever. An even smaller part of me hopes that one day you stumble across this answer. A tiny speck inside of me hopes you realise that this is about you. That it's always been about you. I hope you remember me.
Because I'll be long gone by then.
As much as I want you, I think I've finally accepted that I can't have you, and you can't have me. It would never work out. That's what I keep telling myself. And if that doesn't work, I'll try to use my imagination-I've always been good at that- and pretend it's you grunting and sweating above me. But I don't know how long that magic would work. Your touch wouldn't make me physically recoil. Your sounds would make me feel euphoric, not fear for my life. Your laugh would make me tingly, not bring tears to my eyes. And your smile as you stared down at me would make me fall for you all over again, not make me sick to the core.
I wish you made me yours that day, on that rainy Thursday I finally well and truly fell for you.
I wish you could just take me away from this, from all the crap.
I wish you were mine. But you can't be.
We're just too many worlds apart.