Writings of a Teenage Girl #6

He was there; solid evidence that I could be liked by a cute, popular, nice guy. Then, in the blink of an eye, the space beside me was void of his presence. He was gone. I could tell by the way he looked at me; before and after. At first his eyes would glow with warmth. I could see that I was the only one he saw. Then his clear blue eyes began to avoid me. It seemed as if they constantly came to rest over my shoulder or above my head; beyond rather than on me.

The light in his eyes that had shone for me went out. He didn’t tickle me anymore. He didn’t flirt with me much. His hugs felt wooden and detached. I kept wondering if perhaps I was reading too much into it and if I had analyzed his actions enough for any theories contrived by my thoughts to be considered biased and unreliable. I kept hoping that perhaps that was the case and that I completely and utterly mistaken. I told myself over and over again, “Everything is okay. You’re fine, I’ll be fine. I’m overreacting. I’ll wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be better and I’ll feel silly for thinking otherwise. Really, I’m fine. I’ll just wait…” it became a chant that echoed thought my head at the end of each school day.

After three days of wearing myself to the bone, I felt like just breaking down and yelling, “What is going on?!” in his face. I didn’t. I filed what I knew and remembered of the boy I liked away in my mind, and then labeled him as MIA. I had no hope of recovery.

The pieces refused to come together in my head. Only five days ago he had been sitting close to me on the leather couch in my living room, laughing and smiling and holding my hand; stroking it in such a way that I thought I would burst with all of the happiness bubbling up inside of me. Five days ago I was innocent, twitterpated, and oblivious to the pain and confusion that came out of nowhere and dominated my life. That carefree me seems ages ago and like a totally different person. I feel drained and empty. I want to crawl into a dark corner to hide from the unforgiving truth that is staring me in the face.

I cannot deny what he told me, but I can refuse to believe it. The cruel words fell from his lips and cut me deeply. “I only like you as a friend…I wanted to tell you right after Prom, but…” He wanted to tell me, but…he didn’t want to hurt me. For over a month, according to him, he felt that way. So he says. I can’t bring myself to believe him.

The way he acted, the way he looked at me; how he held my hand and put his arm around me. These things, at least in my eyes, hint that he might possibly be lying; though I cannot for the life of me see why he would. If he was pretending, leading me on…I don’t know what I would do.

I just can’t see why he would pretend to be interested, if that’s what he was doing, instead of only acting friendly. I refuse to believe that he was faking all of it for the sake of my heart. I will not believe it, for if I do it is possible my heart will give out from the implications of what he did.

You see, if he was insincere in his actions with me then it means he went along with my little “fantasy” to protect my “poor, defenseless” heart. I cannot accept this as fact; it doesn’t seem like something he would do.

Unfortunately, as he said it to me himself in person, I can’t completely disregard the condemning words either. I feel caught up in a whirlwind of confusion and indecision. I will not believe it. I can’t. I can, I will, I must…No! I mustn’t.
My head tells me that it only makes sense; that having Him like Me of all girls was so unlikely in the first place that I shouldn’t be surprised to be informed of the charade. But my heart, grown bold and confident with his attention, rebukes my head and my better judgment. My heart argues its point with memories of how he looked at me, touched me, and other persuading remembrances of him.

There is a set determination in both of their argument. One is dedicated to convincing me of the truth of his lie so I do not waste myself on foolish fantasies and hopes. The other is determined to make room for hope and flat out refuses to believe that the safety and warmth it enjoyed was an act; a lie. A heartfelt action maybe, but a lie no matter how one looks at it.

Which am I to listen to? My head and my heart are at odds with one another, pushing me to make a decision and pick a side. Do I listen to sense or take a chance with hope? Heart or head; head or heart?

I wish I knew.

~May 9-12, 2007~