I stayed. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I stayed the time before that, or the one before that, or the five other times before that. I just did. I felt sorry somehow; like it was my fault he loved me. That in someway I was responsible for his obsession. For being too nice. For being too...I don’t know, too much like me.
But that last time I didn’t. I was finally fed up with this never-ending cycle, enough to break it. I just thought he was being dramatic to get me to stay, I never thought he was serious. I never dared him to do it. I am not that cold hearted, but I just thought that if I left that once he would be okay. That he would be depressed for a while, skip school for a couple of days then come back. But I felt guilty and after a couple of days I went over anyway just to see that he was okay.
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He always use to get into fights, threatening people for the hell of it, provoking the teachers just to have something to do on the temporarily afternoons when I was trying to teach him a lesson (I did that quite a bit at the end). That last time was really something else though; he was really out of control. More so than usual.
That day after not staying with him he probably felt like he had to get back at the world for something. I am not sure if he had planned it or just had an epiphany when he found his dad‘s lighter in his breast pocket and the books in his arms. Either way he lit a couple of textbooks on fire in the middle of the field and nearly got the south building up in flames. I was called into the office because everyone, even the staff, knew I was his girl. It had been common knowledge ever since my freshman year.
Before we got together we were just two decent looking, semi-popular kids. But when we got together everyone seemed to want to know everything about us. Like two halves of a very volatile combination we exploded and everyone loved to see us be the eccentric duo we were. He was a year older than me, so I guess that might have factored in some of the interest. I mean it wasn’t that much of scandalous thing, a lot of girls dated older guys. I suppose no one would have guessed that we would be the two to hook up.
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I talked to him in a summer class we had together, but only a few times. When he walked up to me at the dance it really caught me off guard. I didn’t even think he remembered my name let alone remembered what we had talked about. I mean it wasn’t even about anything of severe significance.
“That outfit don’t match your good girl persona.” When I turned around I was half expecting there to be no one, like I was just imagining things or something. I had already done that more than once that evening, with the music as loud as it was.
But he was there, smiling down at me looking unbelievably good. His hair was a complete disaster. One of those things that is so wrong it’s right. I was so distracted by his appearance that I completely spaced on what he had just said.
“What was that?”
“I said those clothes are ruining your innocence.” Looking down at my self, forgetting for a moment what I was wearing and realized that I was wearing the exact same thing I had been the day we started talking.
“Doesn’t matter, it‘s already ruined.”
You could have told me my ass was on fire I still wouldn’t have moved. The smile he gave me was sense numbing. Something about how he looked at me made my stomach do a couple flips. But the sickness gave me a bit of a buzz that within seconds became addictive.
“Well then I guess it wouldn‘t matter if you danced with me then, would it?” He didn’t bother with my response, just wrapped his arm around my waist. Though it must have been insanely difficult, he somehow managed to safely navigate us through the mass of people into the center of the dance floor. I could tell you every detail down to what the people dancing around us were wearing.
He wasn’t subtle in the least, I never expected him to be, it just amazed me that he was being this way with me. No guy had treated me in that manner, if they liked me they would follow me around for awhile and blush when I smiled at them, but they never tried to make a real move.
I had wanted a real dance partner the whole time; I was tired of dancing with the same old boys. Guys that I could see were looking at other girls as they danced with me. It was enough to make me want to cry.
I liked having his body so close to mine. I didn’t mind the intense heat that such close movement produce, the extreme friction, the sweat or even the malicious stares. It seems that when he was near the other things just went away. He created a world within reality that included you and no one else. Even when his friends tried to pull him away, or when other, older, and what I would have considered hotter girls tried to steal him away he would brush them off and continue to bring me close.
We were probably two of the last people to leave that night. I had missed the ride with my friends and had no way of getting home. But he was quick to provide with me with an alternative.
“You want to hang out a bit. Take a drive.”
“A drive where? And who is going to drive us?”
“Lexi, I am. I have a license.” Blonde moment, duh of course he was sixteen, he was hot in every other way, mind as add that too.
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“Did he ever hit you,” that is the first thing people ask me when they find out what happened. They think because I stood with him through his moods that it automatically meant I would stay through something more. He never hit me, not once. He’d yell and threw things at the wall but he’d never hurt me. When he’d get too out of control I was sure to tell him. The thought of me leaving was enough to calm down a bit.
“Did he do drugs,” of course they would ask this. To them, people only did what he did if they were drugged out. But that’s the problem; he’d never been on any sort of drugs at any point in his life. Perhaps a prescription would have controlled his moods so he wouldn’t get so whacked. No he didn’t do drugs but maybe he should have. Maybe if he was he would not have gone through with it, the addiction wouldn’t have allowed him to. Since I wasn’t enough... or maybe because I was too much.
“Was he a big drinker,” well yeah, what kid his age wasn’t around those parts? Nothing else to do, but he never drunk anything at his house. He was smarter than that. He only drank at parties or around his friends. Anyway he was too crazed for a beer or five to calm him down anyway. It probably would have made him worse.
Then there was the big question, one I kept asking myself from the moment I found him, “Did you know he was contemplating suicide?” Truth was I did. I couldn’t keep that from myself, but I was sure as hell not going to let them know that. If I couldn’t keep him from going through with it then I could at least do him the favor of leaving his motives a mystery.
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