It's The Story Of Us

It started a year ago in English. I had just transferred to a new school. I wanted to leave everything behind; forget my old school, my horrible teachers, my bouts of depression, and especially forget the death of my mother. It sounds terrible, as I read this back to myself, but the truth of the matter is that I wanted no memory of the pain. But I digress.
I entered my new life with relief. The first day of school was marvelous. Few people new of my loss, so I no longer had to accept any condolences, lie and say I was alright, or dodge the pitying looks from those I had considered friends. I was a blank slate. There was but one person at the new school who truly knew my state of being, and she led me through my day, showing me the ropes so I could be self-sufficient. I sat behind her in English, as she was my guide... and you sat next to me.
At first I thought nothing of it. You were just another nameless face, another being that added to my blissful ignorance of my surroundings. I only really began to pay attention to your existence when an acquaintance of mine informed me that she had a crush on you, and requested my help. I was surprised at her eagerness to trust me, despite our lack of knowledge about one another, so I readily agreed to aid her in her attempt to... woo you (for lack of a better word).
The only way I could help her at all was to get to know you, so that is what I attempted to do. Every day during English, I would kick your chair or tap your leg with my foot (incredibly childish, I know), so as to start up a conversation. These exchanges were so brief however, that it didn't really help me acquaint myself with you much. I relayed this finding to the girl I was trying to help (we shall call her Dianna), and she told me that I needed to find a way to have more long-term conversations with him. I agreed.
Now, here was the thing: for some reason, being the new girl had sparked the interest of several different guys. I was so empty that this merely amused me, and I used their knowledge to learn more about you. Eventually, I convinced one of them to give me your number. I told Dianna of my triumph, and she told me to text him immediately. So that is what I did.
It was in this way that I truly got to know you. We began to correspond every day. Eventually, Dianna began to text you as well, but it soon became clear that you favored me. I was initially upset and considered cutting off all connections with you, but it was too late. I already had feelings for you; feelings I just couldn't ignore. And so it began.
Let's skip forwards a bit. It's spring break. I have been asked out by three different guys, one of them is you.
Initially, I would have picked you instantly, but I felt so guilty; guilty that Dianna liked you, guilty that I used others to get to know you, and I just didn't know if I could do it. And then I found out that you may have liked another girl, who I shall name Layla. I told myself that I couldn't do that to Dianna, and that you deserved Dianna or Layla, who were both better than me. So I let you go, and chose another guy so that you would be angry at me and fall for someone else.
I hated what I had done. My plan had worked, you no longer felt anything for me, but turned to Layla. Dianna could no longer be angry at me. But I was miserable. I felt nothing positive for the one I had chosen; only disgust. He wanted nothing from me but sex, which I refused to give to him. I eventually began to ignore him, though I didn't flat out dump him since I couldn't drop the ruse.
And yet you still talked to me. I gave you advice on Layla, though each time I did it felt like I was stabbing myself, over and over. But I kept telling myself that you being happy was all that mattered. I was an utter masochist, and hated every fiber of my being. This continued all the way to mid summer, when I discovered something interesting, something that pulled me slightly from my depressed haze: Layla hadn't spoken to you for a month. She had, however, been frequently interacting with my boyfriend.
I immediately inquired about this, asking Layla (who was, despite everything, my friend) what was going on. She told me she just didn't feel like she did in the beginning of her relationship. I didn't tell you this, because I didn't want to hurt you, but I must say I was quite surprised.
When school started again, I dumped my boyfriend. I thought I had detached myself from being utterly dependent on your happiness. Then, Layla ended it with you. I was shocked. I consoled you, and slowly, every feeling I had been shutting off since you had started dating her came flooding back.
Let's skip forwards again. It's National Crush Day. Whether or not that day actually exists, the students at our school are observing it.
I wrote your name, coded of course, on my wrist. After school, you wouldn't stop bugging me about who I wrote on my wrist. I kept telling you I couldn't say who it was, and the fact that I couldn't should make it obvious. But you wanted me to say it. So, finally, I did.
"Was that really so hard?" you asked me.
"Yes! Yes, it really was!" I told you. And when you asked why, I said it was because you didn't feel the same way about me. You told me I was wrong.
On September 13, 2012, you asked me to be your girlfriend. I will never forget that day. You told me to forget the past, and just concentrate on how we feel now. And that's what I did.
We've been taking it slowly, much more slowly than you did with Layla, and I am thankful for that. I want this to be something neither of us has ever been through before. Ich liebe dich.
Needtoleave Needtoleave
13-15, F
Dec 2, 2012