Staring

I stared at her from across the utterly white, bare room. Her stone cold, blue-gray eyes staring right back at me, with those long eyelashes never even sweeping down once. It seemed to me that I could do nothing with her here. I could not function, I could not think, I could not move. Her gaze was that of Medusa’s; it turned me to stone. Everything about her hypnotized me into the sweetest dream. Her golden ringlets were perfectly curled, reaching just past her shoulders. She wore the sweetest dress. It was red, like the most valuable ruby, with white lace bound in a beautiful design flowing from the shoulders. Pearls hung like ropes from her waist, almost reaching her ankles. The porcelain skin she had was so flawless, so unmistakable. Then were her lips. Her lips were the softest, sweetest lips, with a gloss covering them, making them even more spellbounding.

Every day, for the shortest of hours, it seemed, I would converse with her once more, and every time I found it difficult to muster a single sentence without feeling like a lovebound fool. In my mind, the only words were those same, heart-breaking five words. She does not love you... She does not love you... Repeating with a rhythm of the saddest song. I couldn’t escape it. That was out of the question.

Without any warning nor hesitation, something, that very moment, happened that had never happened before. She spoke without me starting first. Nothing of great genius, but enough to make my heart melt.

“Why must you stare so coldly, Bruno?” She asked. Her voice was so quiet, it was hardly audible. My ears almost had to strain just to make out her words.

“You know why I do... Ava,” I whispered back, never breaking the connection in our eyes. Her empty expression never faltered, not even more a moment. I felt as though she didn’t even care if I were here or not. To her, this was probably all just a game. She could never feel even the slightest once of affection towards someone like me. The song in my head grew louder with these depressing thoughts. She does not love you... She does not love you...

“Is it because you are smitten with me, Bruno?” Her words cracked me like an egg. I was afraid to answer her. Not only was I afraid for fear of rejection, but humiliation as well.

I suddenly thought back to the first time I saw her elegant face. Of course I was still in this white room; I’m always in this white room. Exactly how she got here, and by whose direction, I don’t know. I just woke up one day from a peaceful dream to see her sitting there in the same ruby red dress as always. At first bewilderment took over me, and I didn’t talk to her for weeks. All I did in that time period was sit in the secluded corner, back facing her, rocking back and forth on my feet. Mostly talking to myself about who she might be, and why she was so captivatingly beautiful.

It was only after those few weeks when I gathered up the rickety courage to ask her her name. Slowly, I turned on my toes to look at her. There she was, same as always, sitting across the room in the dead center. She was still staring blankly at me, of course. There was no surprise found there.

“W-who are you?” I asked with a trembling, nervous voice. At first she made no sign of reaction, and I feared she didn’t hear me, or worse, want to hear me. Finally, however, after a few moments of assumed pondering, she answered.

“I am Ava. Tell me your name, stranger,” she ordered me with a strong, but smooth voice.

“I’m Bruno... But you are more the stranger than I, miss. This is my home, whereas you came here without invitation. In my mind, if I may say, you are the stranger in this room,” I replied, with a sudden overwhelming leap of braveness. How dare I speak in such a manner to an angel? Surely she was an angel, after all. No one I have ever seen had been so gorgeous.

“I suppose you are right, Bruno, I am the stranger. Forgive my rudeness, please.”

What seemed like hours passed of uncomfortable silence between us, and with each passing second I just grew more and more nervous. Why I would be nervous confused me at the time, but I understand now.

“Do you sit there often?” Ava asked, breaking the silence. I stuttered, at loss for words. Who was she to ask such a question when she did the same thing?

“I sit here as often as you sit there, darling,” I said with a quivering voice. It was like my voice was taunting me to break and run away from my throat.

Ava seemed to sit there, taking in my statement with that same emotionless, blank face. Her hands still lay at her side, the left holding an elegant white lace umbrella. Nothing about her seemed to move, not even the frills on the top of her matching red hat.

“Then,” she finally declared, “I suppose that would make that often. I know that I do nothing but sit here, and since all the time I’ve been here, that is what you have done as well. But say that I was not here, or that I never came. What would you be doing at this exact moment? Surely not sitting there like the rag doll you appear to be.”

I was at a loss for words. Not necessarily because I was offended, but merely because I was shocked. So suddenly she made such a huge statement, and I was flattered that she was so curious about me.

“Usually I am sitting on the opposite wall from you, dreaming, thinking, and creating grand stories in my head. I can’t recall ever having a friend to talk to, however. You are the first... I mean, you are my friend, right?” I asked her with uncertainty.

Another long, strenuous pause from her.

“I guess you could say that. Yes, I am your friend. Are you my friend?”

Happiness overtook me, and my pulse became irregular for just a moment, before I gained control once more. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling like a fool.

“I am your friend, Ava, and I most certainly am glad you are here. A friend at last! What a joyous feeling,” I exclaimed, more to myself than her. Standing up, I then walked back to the center, and there I would stay for many months, sitting right across from her.

We talked for hours a day, usually, about who we were, where we came from, and what we enjoyed. Well, mostly I did the talking. Ava told me she was not fond of it so much as she would like, so I tried to make things comfortable for her. Rarely, I asked her a question, but mostly, she would reply in the shortest possible words. Truthfully, I didn’t mind. I was just happy with being in her presence.

It was not until I believe the 3rd week when I realized my true feelings for her, but she not once showed any sign of affection back towards me. Admitting this to myself was quite the challenge, and took days just to confess my love for her to myself. I suppose it’s rather pitiful when a man is scared to confess his love for someone to just himself. In fact, I bet I’m the first to do so.

When one day I casually slipped into the conversation if she’s ever loved, she replied with both heartbreaking but relieving news.

“I would rather not say, Bruno, for I do not know exactly what love is. Whether I have experienced it or not I cannot say, for I am not sure of it,” was her reply. Two things happened in the exact same moment. First, my heart shattered. In that one millisecond I had waves of doubt rush through my mind. ‘She does not love you, you fool. She could never love such an outcast, why would you ask that?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ seemed to be on repeat. Then, after letting this sink in, my hopes rose, for if she had not before loved, I could be her first.

Since that day, I had tried my hardest to impress her, to comment on her beauty in discrete ways, and to let her know that I was a true gentleman. I’ll admit, it was not an easy task, for one finds it rather difficult to discretely give his love comments on her beauty. Now that I come to think of it, I suspect she knew from the start. When I replay the conversations in my mind now, I see it was very clear that I love her.

The next afternoon I decided to try something new. Instead of treating her like the angel that I know she is, I would now instead try treating her like a sister. Strange, I am well aware, but it was worth a shot. If I could learn to act casual in front of her, maybe my true feelings would become harder to notice. If they became harder to notice, maybe, just maybe, I would save myself from humiliation and regret.

“Good afternoon, Ava,” I greeted.

“Good afternoon, Bruno. How were your dreams? Tell me all about them,” she said in her usual, candy sweet voice that sounded like music to my ears. Reminding myself once more of the plan, I answered.

“It was strange, though too abnormal to explain. I can’t remember it anymore now, anyways. Just that it was strange, indeed,” was my reply. In my opinion it was much more casual than what I would usually sound like. Normally, I would tell her that is was indeed a good afternoon, and then ask how her night was. Since she never sleeps, I would ask her what she thought of, and quite possibly slip a comment in there as well.

She seemed taken back by this; I could tell. Even though her face was the same as always – blank and emotionless – I felt as though I could actually feel what she was feeling. Like some sort of unexplainable shared wave of emotions. At least, I told myself that, since it made me feel as though I meant something more than I most likely did.

“That sounds interesting, Bruno, if only you could remember it. Is that all you dreamed of?” She asked. “I myself thought of many things of which I could share with you, if only you’d like to know.”

“I would like to know, dear Ava. Please tell me,” I almost begged. In my imagination, I was hitting myself for calling her dear. She’ll know! She will find out our little secret if I am not careful! I have probably already spoiled it all. All of the preplanning that went on in my mind even as she spoke, gone to waste because I could not control my mouth. I was a pitiful excuse for a boy, indeed.

Though through all of the thinking and abuse that went on in my mind, I knew what she felt. It seemed to me that she felt some sense of victory, as if she had won over my plans. If she ever showed any emotion on her porcelain-like face, I knew she would have been smirking at my defeat. Curse me! But at the same time of my anger, I felt a sense of relief that she would even feel the slightest bit of joy over winning this nonexistent charade that lasted if only a minute. What a relieving feeling to know that my love showed some type, if any, of joy towards me hiding my plainly in sight feelings.

“Well, in the time of your absence,” she started, referring to my hours of sleeping as absence, as she normally did. “I thought first of what sort of things I would think of today, for one must plan these things ahead of time if one wishes not to be bored. Not saying in the slightest that you bore me, my friend, but at times when we are not speaking, a sense of dread rarely comes over me. When we are not speaking, I rarely feel like there is nothing to do. Taking into consideration that I am just a girl who merely enjoys listening, I found no need to bring up any sort of topic of conversation, for I felt just the topic would hurt your ears. I am not the grandest at making interesting topics to speak of.

“After I had preplanned some of the things I could think about, I will admit, although I am most bashful about saying so, I continued to watch you sleep. For some reason of which I am not quite sure I felt as though watching you sleep was relaxing and time-consuming in itself. Since I am almost certain that you would feel the same way, maybe feel something larger than merely relaxation, I feel it comfortable to tell you these things.

“Like I have mentioned before, I have not had a friend before you, nor loved, if you’d be interested to be reminded, but I feel as though confessing our thoughts is what friends do. Am I wrong?” Ava stated in the upmost confident way, ending the short speech with a question, like it was the cherry to top it off. I felt completely dumbfounded. Never before had she said so much at once. At first I wondered if she were truly alright, or if she had gotten ill over the course of one night.

I took some time just taking in everything that came from her mouth, and after registering it, went over it all again. She was staring... at me? That certainly was the thing that caught me off guard the most. A flurry of pissed off butterflies seemed to explode in my stomach, leaving me feeling like a king.

“You are not wrong, dear Ava. That, indeed, is what friends are for. They tell each other their thoughts, about themselves, and still have a million words to say until they are through. You are what a friend is like,” I replied, not caring if I called her a dear, or if I had that loving tone.

“Thank you, Bruno. I do feel better now that I know. Would you like to know a secret?”

I raised my eyebrows in both confusion and suspicion.

“Of course...”

It, of course, was only in my imagination, but I pictured Ava leaning in closer, with the smallest of smirks. If only she could ever do that outside my head. Still, thoughts flew through my brain about what she could be referring to when she said ‘secret’. An eternity seemed to pass before she finally spoke once again.

“It would not be polite to tell you this now, though I long to. Perhaps in a future time. Hopefully you will remain anxious, as you are now. I can see it upon your pale face. I see that you were anxiously awaiting the secret from the glint in your emerald eyes. Forgive me, for I do regret bringing it up. It simply would not be appropriate for this time,” Ava said, making my face fall and stomach drop. This unknown secret would now haunt me for a lifetime and a half, or whenever she decided to tell me.

Suddenly my mind shot back into the real time. It all seemed like a hazy dream, now that I’m staring back into the cold eyes of Ava. There was no escaping this question, for it was not as if I could go anywhere. We were in a room without doors, without windows. I hung my head, my eyes frantically moving from one point to another. I twiddled my thumbs and bit my bottom lip anxiously. Finally, I stopped all at once, and raised my head to look back at her.

“Yes, Ava. I am in love with you. I have been since the day we first spoke. All my life, I have never imagined nor met anyone with such angelic beauty as you. And I... I was hoping that you feel the same way, for I would hate to be making a fool of myself as I confess my true feelings for you,” I blurted out all at once. My mind was racing. She does not love you... She does not love you... The rhythm was now playing loudly and quickly through my head, like it was playing to the hasty beat of an African drum.

It took her ages to seem to ponder over my heartfelt confession, and I did feel like a fool. How could I let myself admit this? She was my first friend... My only friend! And I may have just let our friendship fade in the wind. At last, Ava drew a breath, as if about to speak, but no words went past her lips.

“Thank you, Bruno. Before I say anything else, however, I would very much like to tell you that secret. Do you remember the time when I said I had a secret I would love to show you, but I must wait until the right time?” Ava quickly said without any warning. Saddened yet excited, I slowly nodded my head twice. “Very well.

“My secret is that I when I said I didn’t know what love was, I was lying. Unladylike, I am aware, and I ask for your forgiveness, but at the time I was just unable to burden you with the truth. The truth is, Bruno... That I cannot love,” she whispered. The statement struck me like a ton of bricks.

“W-what? What... What do you mean, Ava?” I asked quietly and sadly, my voice coated with a thick layer of depression.

“The reason I cannot love...” I literally leaned in, silently begging for the bitter explanation.

“...Is for the fact that I am a doll.”