To Be Loved
Chapter 2
I wanted to be angry with you, at first. Right when you walked, no ran out of my door back to her, I knew I should have stopped it then and there. But I also knew that I couldn’t do that. That I loved you too much to keep you out. I knew that the next time you came to my door, I would open it again and again for you. It only took a couple of weeks for you to come back again. This time she was in Chicago for modeling and you were miserable, depressed, and lonely. You showed up at 2 in the morning, looking utterly defeated. I held the door open without a word, and you walked in without saying one. That second time was even worse than the first, Oli. Know why? Right when you walked in, you kicked off your shoes (you may have been having a breakdown, but you still had manners), and climbed into my bed, shuddering and shaking. I looked at you blankly for a second. We had always been close, but not this close. I quickly climbed in next to you, wanting to take advantage of every minute of this newfound intimacy. I knew it would kill me later, but I didn’t care.
The minute I climbed between the sheets, your arms went around me and drew me close. The heat of your body against mine was almost too much. I lay still and stiff for a couple of seconds, adjusting to your sudden outburst of needy affection. Then I eased into your arms, wrapping my arms around your torso, drawing you to me. You nestled into my neck , your hand reaching around to fiddle gently with the ends of my hair. It was painfully similar to how you fiddle with hers. So, for that moment, I pretend I was her. Tall, gorgeous, wanted. And in that small moment, I was happy. I was Ellie.
That’s how I make it through those nights now, Oli. Being so close to you, wanting you, but not being able to have you. I pretend that I’m her. Or better yet, on nights when I’m extra ambitious, I pretend I’m me. And that you love me. The mornings after those nights are usually the ones when I cry the hardest. Because I know that you’ll never see me that way. In high school, we watched friends decide they wanted to date and then break up horribly, and vow never to speak to one another ever again. We always joked that we would never be those people. That our friendship was safe, because I wasn’t “your type”. I laughed, but at the same time, I knew it was true. It stung then, and it stings now. You never went for girls like me. You adored girls who radiated confidence and beauty. I happen to do neither. The face that you’ll never love me may come as a relief to you, Oli, but it never came as one to me.
The minute I climbed between the sheets, your arms went around me and drew me close. The heat of your body against mine was almost too much. I lay still and stiff for a couple of seconds, adjusting to your sudden outburst of needy affection. Then I eased into your arms, wrapping my arms around your torso, drawing you to me. You nestled into my neck , your hand reaching around to fiddle gently with the ends of my hair. It was painfully similar to how you fiddle with hers. So, for that moment, I pretend I was her. Tall, gorgeous, wanted. And in that small moment, I was happy. I was Ellie.
That’s how I make it through those nights now, Oli. Being so close to you, wanting you, but not being able to have you. I pretend that I’m her. Or better yet, on nights when I’m extra ambitious, I pretend I’m me. And that you love me. The mornings after those nights are usually the ones when I cry the hardest. Because I know that you’ll never see me that way. In high school, we watched friends decide they wanted to date and then break up horribly, and vow never to speak to one another ever again. We always joked that we would never be those people. That our friendship was safe, because I wasn’t “your type”. I laughed, but at the same time, I knew it was true. It stung then, and it stings now. You never went for girls like me. You adored girls who radiated confidence and beauty. I happen to do neither. The face that you’ll never love me may come as a relief to you, Oli, but it never came as one to me.