in which a broken-hearted boy describes the after effect of losing love and friendship.
meet grayson, a boy whose mind works as fast as his heart beats, and loves as much as he can. this is the life of a boy who lost everything.
**completed**
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"I hope you don't hate me," I whispered with tears stinging my eyes. I meant just that; I hoped Nichole didn't hate me. Because if she did, my world would be incomplete. If Nichole hated me, I didn't know what I'd do with myself.
"I could never hate you, Gray. I changed, too. We all did. I can't hate you for that. You're still the same Grayson to me," she smiled softly, wiping the tears from my eyes. She had been sitting on my lap for a while now, and I wanted more than anything to kiss her soft lips. I wondered how they tasted. I wanted to feel her body against mine. I wanted to hold her hand and be able to kiss her just because I could, but I couldn't.
"Thank you."
"I love you, Grayson," she said, her eyes lighting up. And I believed her; I believed that she loved me, because why would she tell me she did if she didn't? And maybe she would never love me the way I loved her, but at least she loved me at all. It should have been enough, but it wasn't. I couldn't make myself believe it was enough.
"Nicki..." I trailed off, pulling her hair behind her ears. She smiled. I smiled back. I sat there, not moving. I watched her eyes look back at me deeply, and it made me feel warm, yet again. She always had such a warm nature to her. Her black and silky hair--long and soft--was always beautiful, and her big, brown eyes were always inviting. And her freckles. God, her freckles were so beautiful. She was so beautiful. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted our bodies to mold together, and I wanted her to kiss me back.
We were a mess of crying and broken hearts, and I wanted her to feel what I was feeling and think the way I was thinking, but I knew there was no way she would. She got off of my lap, and I was grateful. I knew--and she knew, too-- that if she didn't move, I would have leaned forward and made a fool of myself. Of course she knew; she knew everything. And even though that terrified me, it also made me feel alive. Nichole knew me; she knew me down to my coffee order, and I loved it.
As she walked around my bedroom, she admired the way it looked; the same as it had before she left. All that had changed were a few posters I had replaced with newer ones. I think she liked that because she smiled really wide and said, "Your room hasn't changed a bit." I think I liked that too.
"Just because I've changed a lot, doesn't mean everything about me changed. I'm still me, the nerdy, space boy who loves a lot. I still care about things; just not myself."
She sighed, and sat down in the chair beside my desk that I use for school work. I stayed still on my bed, afraid that if I got up, I would kiss her. I was so afraid that I would kiss her because I knew I couldn't control the way I felt around her, and she knew too. She knew everything. But for some reason, she still pretends like she doesn't. She pretends that she doesn't know I love her, and she pretends that I don't know that she knows. I hate that more than anything, but I loved her.
