Love Isn't Love, 'Til You Give It Away

The next couple of weeks passed slowly. Nothing happened worth noting. My parents had decided that I had to go back to school but I think they'd decided to postpone it until I was "better." Medically, there was nothing wrong with me. I was fine – just like I was telling everyone. But no one believed me, not my parents, not my brothers, and not Alex. And that was fine, if they wanted to insist that something was wrong with me, then that was their problem. I wasn't going to waste my time trying to convince them that there was nothing wrong with me. I knew and that was all that mattered.

When I was on my own at home, I often climbed out of my window and sat on the small space of roof and played my guitar. I played some Jonas Brothers songs, and some new songs. Usually tears would trickle silently down my cheeks as I thought about everything I had and how quickly it had been snatched away from me.

But as soon as a member of my family walked through the front door, the music stopped, my tears evaporated, and my walls returned.

I knew everyone was worried about me, I did. But I didn't know how to convince them I was okay. That there was nothing that needed to be done to help me. I had made a choice and was now living my life according to that choice. I wasn't mentally ill. I was just being safe. Ensuring that my heart wasn't going to be torn out of my chest and stomped on repeatedly by someone I trusted. There was nothing wrong with wanting to protect myself.

One afternoon, about 2 months after Disney had dropped us, there was a knock on my door. I turned and saw Alex open the door slowly and poke his head around the edge. Once I knew who it was, I looked away again. I hadn’t been doing anything so I had nothing to go back to, to try to ignore that Alex was here and that he was going to try to get me to talk to him...again. And I still wasn't going to. "I've got something to show you," he said and I turned to him, curious against my will. He went over to my window seat and picked up my guitar and then came and sat on the bed next to me. I shifted away from him slightly, not comfortable being that close to him. I saw him frown slightly and knew he'd noticed, but he didn't say anything. "Just...remember I'm still practising, okay," he said. I didn't respond either way and he sighed slightly. Just in that sigh I could hear so many emotions; despair, anxiousness, sadness, desperation. I wanted to say something, but I also wanted to stay quiet, to keep my walls secure.

Then Alex started playing softly. I knew the song immediately and I lowered my eyes, trying to hide my emotions from him. I could hear the words running through my head and I clenched my jaw, trying desperately to hold back my tears. Alex played 'Don't Speak' from the last album and he played it really well. I didn't hear him mess up once. He finally finished and I continued to look down, biting my lip hard. "I know I need more practise...but I thought I'd show you what I'd done," he said hopefully. I looked up and met his eyes. He must have seen something in my eyes because the spark in his dimmed slightly and he looked away quickly. "You hated it...I'm sorry. I thought I was getting better..." he said and I felt my heart melt slightly. How could he always do this to me? Even unintentionally, Alex always broke down my walls...or at least poked holes in them.
"It was good," I said, forcing my voice to be its usual toneless sound. I saw Alex lower his head and I frowned. I wanted to make him look me in the eye and see how much I meant that he was good. That I had loved hearing him play. "It was good," I said again. I realised my voice was slightly softer but I'd already spoken without covering it up. But Alex noticed. He immediately turned to me and looked deep into my eyes.
"Nick?" he whispered. I wanted to look away from his eyes. I knew I should. But I couldn’t. I was stuck in his gorgeous blue eyes. "Nicky?" he whispered again and I instantly backed away.
"Don't," I said, moving further away from him. "I think you should go."
"Why?" he asked, stubbornly not moving.
"Because I don’t want you here anymore," I said angrily and Alex's face filled with hurt, before he quickly hid it. He turned away, placing the guitar on my bed before standing up. I wanted to reach out to him, to ask him to please stay. That I was sorry for everything. For the way I'd treated him over the last couple of months. But I didn't. I stayed quiet.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered before leaving my room and shutting the door firmly behind him.

I could feel my throat constricting but I wasn't going to cry. The rest of my family were downstairs. They would come to me if they heard me crying. And I didn't want that.