thirteen

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Ellie Webber

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Ellie Webber

I remember the first time I felt horny.

I remember feeling it stir in my stomach. I remember the desire rolling off of my tongue. I remember wanting nothing more than to just indulge in myself. But then I remembered, it wasn't a real person making me feel this way.

It was a character.

In a book, it was a character who was fictional.

And even if that book character was real he probably wouldn't have batted an eye at me.

But still—the idea of someone wanting you is exciting, isn't it? The thrill of knowing that someone could and would love you unconditionally, no matter what with strings attached.

Stuff like that only happened in writing.

"Now, for next class on Friday I need you guys to have read the assigned one hundred pages of The Notebook and we will then discuss and watch clips from the movie." Professor Adams spoke behind her podium.

Everyone else's eyes were on her but I couldn't pick my eyes up from my notebook paper. I would go through these moments of zoning out. I would play a moment in my head, a fictional moment that would never happen—but the thought of it was thrilling.

When I was younger I would zone out in the middle of science class while the mean girls were picking on me and dream of my brother coming through the classroom door, swinging the shit out of those mean girls and their pretty bows.

However, a recurring dream that I would play in my head was that I would dream of what this class would be like at Ohio State. It consumed everything about me. I would sit and listen to music, staring off into the middle of nowhere and just listen to the music—conjuring up a life of fantasy.

Because it was better than the life I was living.

Nicholas Sparks did a great job at portraying life and how it progresses in times of what you want and what you have to deal with, but in the end, everything was happy. Even if they were miserable—they still loved eachother.

So who's going to love me?

"Alright, class dismissed. I know it's an hour early but since you guys are already ahead of the game, why not take a break since it's Wednesday!" Whispers of approval from my peers were heard as we universally stood up from our seats.

It wasn't a sweat-your-balls-off kind of day, it was wearing a cute cardigan kind of day. I loved a good cardigan. I could show off my non-existent boobs and my prominent collarbones. It was lovely.

Cardigans were the best to wear, they gave me an extra sense of protection. It was the hug that told me to keep going, the extra push that nobody would give me—a push that I so desperately needed.

I think that's the worst thing about making these scenarios up in my mind. As soon as the scenarios leave your mind you're faced with reality. And my reality was rough.

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