Goodbye, Stephen
A/N: A completely fictitious story about heartbreak.
Sitting in the large private library with the only illumination coming from her computer screen and the dim glow between the blinds as the sun set, she brought up YouTube and played a song from her Favorites list. As the catchy tune played into her headphones, she glanced to her left where—sitting at a desk with his head in his arms—a boy was fast asleep. The boy had messy brown hair splayed across his pillow for a couple inches longer than was probably politically correct. His mother often told him it was too long, but the girl liked it that way. If his eyes were open, the girl would have been able to see his milky chocolate brown eyes and his absurdly long eyelashes. There were a few beauty marks dabbed across his skin and his lips were pursed. The girl wondered how long it would be before he began to drool.
Her heart pounded and soon a feeling of sadness and loss overcame her. The boy wasn’t hers. He had been at one time. He had held her and kissed her and whispered sweet things into her ear, stayed up until all hours texting her, just so he wouldn’t have to leave her. And she had done the same. They had talked about everything. They had shared everything. They had opened up their hearts to one another, no matter how scared of being hurt they were—and they weren’t just scared, they were terrified. Maybe that’s why she lost him. She was too careful. Maybe if she had opened up a bit more, allowed more, his feelings wouldn’t have changed and they would have been everything they once said they were going to be.
As it was, he was still her brother’s best friend so he was often around. He had said they would stay friends and she had eagerly agreed. She had already lost him as a boyfriend—why would she want to lose her best friend, too?
Earlier in the day she had been with multiple friends in the library, simply goofing around. It was the only place her father never went and she needed time without Mr. President breathing down her neck to wipe off her Gothic makeup and play the perfect first daughter. Soon, one by one, her friends had trickled out, going off to the park, to their homes, etc. She had stayed with the sleeping boy, content to sit with Microsoft Word and simply write. But as she stared at the boy, distracted from the screen, she realized the only thing she could think about was him. And she didn’t want to put him into words. It would take too long.
He was everything. He was handsome. He was kind. He was funny, endearing, warm, playful. Maybe he wasn’t particularly tall yet but who was she to judge?
When he looked at her, her heart skipped a few beats and her palms began to sweat.
Tears pricked at her eyes, remembering that text. “I love you, I just don’t love us.” If that was true, why was he acting like a jackass, not caring when she spoke about something that had hurt her during the day or something her father had said that had stuck with her, replaying and bringing up old pain? He didn’t love her. She knew it. But what was she going to do about it? They were his feelings and he had the right to feel whatever he wanted.
When he was confused he would rub a hand through his hair. When he was stressed he would rub his neck. When he was feeling playful he would get this look on his face like the world was his to do whatever he wanted with.
The girl wiped away a lone tear that had betrayed her. The boy was still asleep but she didn’t want to cry in front of him, regardless of his unconsciousness. She didn’t want him to know how he had made her feel. Okay, that was a lie. She wanted him to know. She wanted him to care. She just didn’t want him to know how much she cared.
As her black hair fell in front of her eyes, she brushed it back behind her ear and shook her head, scolding herself internally. The song had long ago ended but she had barely noticed. She was doing what she said she wouldn’t. She wasn’t—under any circumstances—going to keep doing this. She’d stay away until her feelings went away. And if they never did…well, she hoped he was happy with whatever he decided to do.
She closed her laptop and threw her bag over her shoulder. When she reached the doorway, she chanced one glance back at the boy. “Goodbye, Stephen.” And she never looked back.
Sitting in the large private library with the only illumination coming from her computer screen and the dim glow between the blinds as the sun set, she brought up YouTube and played a song from her Favorites list. As the catchy tune played into her headphones, she glanced to her left where—sitting at a desk with his head in his arms—a boy was fast asleep. The boy had messy brown hair splayed across his pillow for a couple inches longer than was probably politically correct. His mother often told him it was too long, but the girl liked it that way. If his eyes were open, the girl would have been able to see his milky chocolate brown eyes and his absurdly long eyelashes. There were a few beauty marks dabbed across his skin and his lips were pursed. The girl wondered how long it would be before he began to drool.
Her heart pounded and soon a feeling of sadness and loss overcame her. The boy wasn’t hers. He had been at one time. He had held her and kissed her and whispered sweet things into her ear, stayed up until all hours texting her, just so he wouldn’t have to leave her. And she had done the same. They had talked about everything. They had shared everything. They had opened up their hearts to one another, no matter how scared of being hurt they were—and they weren’t just scared, they were terrified. Maybe that’s why she lost him. She was too careful. Maybe if she had opened up a bit more, allowed more, his feelings wouldn’t have changed and they would have been everything they once said they were going to be.
As it was, he was still her brother’s best friend so he was often around. He had said they would stay friends and she had eagerly agreed. She had already lost him as a boyfriend—why would she want to lose her best friend, too?
Earlier in the day she had been with multiple friends in the library, simply goofing around. It was the only place her father never went and she needed time without Mr. President breathing down her neck to wipe off her Gothic makeup and play the perfect first daughter. Soon, one by one, her friends had trickled out, going off to the park, to their homes, etc. She had stayed with the sleeping boy, content to sit with Microsoft Word and simply write. But as she stared at the boy, distracted from the screen, she realized the only thing she could think about was him. And she didn’t want to put him into words. It would take too long.
He was everything. He was handsome. He was kind. He was funny, endearing, warm, playful. Maybe he wasn’t particularly tall yet but who was she to judge?
When he looked at her, her heart skipped a few beats and her palms began to sweat.
Tears pricked at her eyes, remembering that text. “I love you, I just don’t love us.” If that was true, why was he acting like a jackass, not caring when she spoke about something that had hurt her during the day or something her father had said that had stuck with her, replaying and bringing up old pain? He didn’t love her. She knew it. But what was she going to do about it? They were his feelings and he had the right to feel whatever he wanted.
When he was confused he would rub a hand through his hair. When he was stressed he would rub his neck. When he was feeling playful he would get this look on his face like the world was his to do whatever he wanted with.
The girl wiped away a lone tear that had betrayed her. The boy was still asleep but she didn’t want to cry in front of him, regardless of his unconsciousness. She didn’t want him to know how he had made her feel. Okay, that was a lie. She wanted him to know. She wanted him to care. She just didn’t want him to know how much she cared.
As her black hair fell in front of her eyes, she brushed it back behind her ear and shook her head, scolding herself internally. The song had long ago ended but she had barely noticed. She was doing what she said she wouldn’t. She wasn’t—under any circumstances—going to keep doing this. She’d stay away until her feelings went away. And if they never did…well, she hoped he was happy with whatever he decided to do.
She closed her laptop and threw her bag over her shoulder. When she reached the doorway, she chanced one glance back at the boy. “Goodbye, Stephen.” And she never looked back.