I Won't Call This Hell

"What are you doing?" I asked, my feet sliding across the tile floor as I followed John into the kitchen. "No!" I swatted at his hand, as he pulled the lid of the pizza box up. The cardboard fell back down, covering the hot food.

His head turned to look at me, a pout forming on his lips. "I'm hungry," he whined.

"I know you are," I said softly, and on cue I heard his stomach rumble lightly. I grinned at this, before placing a hand on his forearm and edging him back into the living room. "but we do our chores before we eat."

He looked slightly upset by this, probably because of the next growl his stomach made, but followed me nonetheless. Then next thing I knew, John was standing beside me, folding clothing.

**

I dusted some of the extra Parmesan from my slice of pizza, taking a bite into my mouth and chewing. The greasy flavors filled my mouth and when I swallowed, the flavor remained. I tried to drown it in iced tea, which worked for the most part before I followed it with another bite of food.

I looked at John, who was looking towards me. He wasn't staring in a creepy manner, or looking past me as if he could care less. He just watched thoughtfully, slowly chewing his own food. He seemed at ease now, more so then when he first came inside. It was as if he was nervous, to be in my house; where my parents and I slept, ate and lived.

"So," he said. His voice broke slightly, and the edges of my lips pulled up. I felt guilty, somehow, that he was uncomfortable. Awkward moments were difficult, and this was one for him. Unlesssomeone I helped him avoid it.

I nodded, letting him know that I was listening. Despite my wishes of not seeing him today, at all, he was here now. In my house, as my guest, and I couldn't be rude. I just couldn't. "So," he said again, and his voice was steady. "I think you should tell me about yourself."

"Why should I?" Okay, yes, I was trying to be polite. I'd been edging towards a conversation, not me blabbing on about my life story. Its not something I do, or look forward to when the odd occasion comes up.

"Why not?" Elbow on the table, head tilting to the side. A grin replaced his mouth and his eyes matched that grin. This was a dare, a challenge. Could I do it? Could I tell this boy, who wasn't a stranger, but also wasn't a lifelong friend, about myself? That was the question, that even I was asking myself..could I?

"You asked for it," were my only words, before the story began. Where I was born, and my childhood wasn't important, and I knew they weren't. Not right now; that was all generic information that didn't fit into the guidelines of this dare.

I started with the person I couldn't avoid, and who I had known the longest. Jeremy was the reason I resented my parents, at moments. He was so perfect in my mother's eyes (which meant he was an automatic win for my father), when he continuously messed-up. I deliberately missed my own brother's wedding for that exact reason, blaming my suffering grades and my fear of flying for not going to Colorado. I missed the biggest and best day of his life; the event that was supposed to be all about him. But, I protested, everything was always about him. Always. Or so it seemed.

To Jeremy, I was one of his main priorities. He protected me, watching out for me even as he started his own family. So, I trusted him. The hardest person in my world to compete with, was also the one I trusted and loved the most. He always had advice to me, and trust me, Jeremy's advice is almost always good. If my life were to drastically change somehow, or if I was in momentous trouble, he would be the first and possibly only person to know.

I wished I wasn't having trouble in school, and that I could relax. I hated that my only backup from art school was accounting, something I didn't enjoy. I crave the ability to forgive and forget, pushing some of my past memories behind me and to never remember them again. Like my love life, for instance- my first boyfriend ever was in the seventh grade, and we had only 'dated' for four days. We were young and he was stupid and I was naive. I thought we would love each other and grow old together, but that all ended after the day I sneezed in his face at our first attempt to kiss. I bawled my eyes out over him, because I was immature and untaught.

My first attempt at love pushed me into relationships that I put little effort into, too stubborn to do anything but distrust the boy at the time. I was thrusted into my own rulebook, where I swore to never cry over, or chase after any man. I didn't hook up, but I also refused to put any purpose into any relationship, explaining why they all ended quickly.

I wanted John to be scared- at least a little. I wanted him to know I wasn't a person who was into social love affairs; that I wasn't the type of girl he wanted. The type of girl he thought he was chasing after. I wanted him to run away, never to come back again. He didn't run, at all. He listened, and he waited for me to finish, and afterwords there was nothing to say. He knew, and he wasn't leaving.

A little piece of me was happy he didn't run.