This is a true story about a boy I loved and still do love. I've written it as fiction because it makes a good story. I've changed the names for obvious reasons.
Half of You To Hold-Loving Someone Who Hates Himself
It was 11: 05 when he called me that day. I don't remember this because I am a whizz at remembering things. I remember it because I had to dash off to next lesson; and now, when I think about the significance of his questions that day, I wish I hadn't. I knew who it was before I answered-his name came up. Amazingly, despite the fact we had been broken up for seven moths by that point, my heart still leapt like a budgie confined in a cage when I saw his name.
"Hello?" I asked as gently as possible. He had called me several times recently; feeling insecure, uncertain, unloved and I had learnt to show him tenderness the way nobody else did.
"Sarah? Can I ask you something?" he said, cautiously.
"Anything" I replied, I hoped somewhere deep in my heart that he would ask me to be his girlfriend again, but I knew somewhere nearer my brain that such a thing would never happen.
"Do you think I'm fat?" he asked. I was dumbfounded at that question. I remembered everything about George's appearance. I remembered the seven shades of blue that filled his eyes. I remembered his skin, even paler than mine; his hair which was a shade of brown that was almost blonde. But I did not think of him as fat. Ever.
"No, of course not. You're not fat.....you're...normal" I said. I longed to say 'perfect', 'gorgeous' or even more recklessly, 'the love of my life', but that would be foolish, so instead I settled for 'normal', the worst word in the English Language, after 'nice'
"Really?" he asked, a tone of surprise in his voice, that is normally not present when people use that phrase.
"Why?" I asked him, "Has somebody said something to you?". This was another sure sign that I still loved him; I was allowed to list his faults, all the bad things he had done to me when we went out, but if anyone else started, God help them.
"No....I just feel fat" he said. This was indeed unusual for a boy to feel and, had I not been required to dash off to Sociology, I would have talked for longer.
"I'm sorry, George, but I have to go. I'll talk to you later" I promised.
"OK, talk to you later....and thanks" he said, in the same melancholy tone he always used when I told him I had to hang up.
"You're welcome. I love you" I said, but the phone had already cut off. Had he heard my last utterance that day, things might not have happened how they did, but then again, who knows?. I couldn't stop thinking about our phonecall all day. I remembered how sad he had sounded, how stupid I was for using a meaningless adjective like 'normal' when my heart was filled with compliments, just dying to run out.
"Maybe college has made him more insecure" suggested my friend Amber, when I told her of my concern that day.
"It seemed like more than that, and he said nobody had said anything to him" I replied.
"Well of course he wouldn't admit it, he's a guy. They don't like to dent their pride like that" she answered.
"George isn't like that, and besides he can tell me anything, he knows that" I said, sounding firmer than I meant to.
"Isn't it time you stopped thinking of the two of you as a couple? It's been seven months, Sarah" she said, a little harshly. Her words stung me; did she not think I knew how long it had been? Did she not think I had missed him every day for seven months? Did she not think I felt like crying every time someone talked about him? She had never had a boyfriend, she didn't understand.
"You don't understand, I loved him. I still do love him" I replied.
"I do understand, I was in love with Mr Allen for three years" she protested.
"Lusting over the Geography teacher is not the same as true love" I snapped.
"Maybe not, but you have to get over George. You don't want to be his security blanket forever" she said, and strode off to Biology.
"Yes I do" I whispered. Later that night, I called George as promised.
"Hello?" he answered in his usual polite manner.
"Hi, I'm sorry I couldn't talk earlier, I had to go to Sociology" I explained, hoping he wasn't angry with me.
"No, no it's fine. I understand. How are you?" he asked, his voice slightly more cheerful.
"Good thanks, are you OK?" I asked him.
"Yeah....well alright" he replied.
"When you called today, and you asked me that question, what made you ask it?" I asked, treading carefully.
"I just feel unhappy. All the boys at college are good looking and athletic and I'm.....not" he concluded, sadly.
"You are good looking, almost on par with Gerard Butler" I replied. He laughed.
"Well, thanks. You always cheer me up, Sarah" he said.
"It's my job" I replied, tears filling my eyes. I loved him so damn much.
"I'm not good looking, though. I need to do something" he said, causing me to sit up, alert.
"Like what?" I asked fearfully.
"I don't know. I'll figure something out" he replied, causing me to feel sick.
"OK" I said, unsure of how to respond to that.
"I have to go, Sarah. I have History homework to do" he said.
"OK, enjoy" I said, sarcastically.
"Will do! See you later" he said and hung up the phone. I sat on my bed, unsure of how to feel. When I logged onto Facebook later, I gasped in surprise as I realised George had deleted all of his photos. Every single one.
"Why?" I asked the little grey outline who had no features, who was not George. Something about what George had said on the phone told me that this little edit wasn't a coincidence.
Next chapter soon
I enjoyed this so much. 
I don't know what to say! (Me with nothing to say, thats rare.) Just message me when you write more.
