I Want Someone to Love Me for Who I Am

My parents forced me to explain everything to them. Neither of them believed me at first, but after I explained it for the 3rd time, they finally accepted the truth. Cameron James wasn't the sweet, innocent boy that everyone believed him to be. He was a back stabber and a user. I think what I hated most, though, was the knowledge that if he apologised to me, I would probably forgive him. Because I liked him that much. It hurt knowing how much I cared about him, and how little he cared about me.

I stayed home the next few days, too scared to go into school. My parents had agreed and were letting me stay home, but I knew they were going to send me back eventually. I didn't want to go back though. I knew everyone would taunt me. The popular group would taunt me. I would see Cameron. I knew it would hurt when I saw him, I never wanted to see him again. And yet, I knew, deep down, that I would always wish I could see him. My heart wanted to see him, but my head knew it was a bad idea.

So, the Monday following the...incident, I went back to school. If I thought I had been lonely before Cameron had arrived, it was nothing compared to the treatment I got now. Before, people just hadn’t known I existed, they walked passed me without realising I was there. But now, now people went out of their way to get away from me, to leave a wide space around me so no one had to touch me. I hadn’t thought my life could be worse than it had been before Cameron arrived, but it could. And now it was.

Nothing could have prepared me for when I first saw Cameron. He was standing at his locker, surrounded by people. I guess he was famous now, for outing the weird kid. And he looked like he was enjoying his new found popularity. Dozens of people were vying for his attention and he was soaking it up. But then he glanced in my direction, he met my eyes. And I swear my heart actually stopped. It didn't just skip a beat, or flip in my chest. It actually stopped. It actually caused me pain. I didn't realise until then, just how deeply I cared for the boy who had broken my heart. But, he was happy now. He'd got what he wanted, I just had to be content in the knowledge that he was happy. He didn't want me, he probably wasn't even gay. But he was happy.

A week passed, and I found myself talking less and less. Not just at school, but at home as well. At school, no one wanted to talk to me, everyone acted as though I had a disease they could catch off me, and so avoided me. No one even looked at me anymore, scared that if they associated themselves with me, they too would be labelled a fag.

I knew my parents were worried. I didn't blame them. I'd got so used to not talking when I was at school that I rarely spoke to them anymore. And it wasn't because of anything they'd done. It was me. "Andrew," my mum said softly one day after I got home from school. I turned to her as I sat in a soft armchair. "Honey, we need to talk to you for a second." It was only then that I realised dad was standing in the doorway where I had just been.
"Okay," I shrugged.
"Well...we're, um...we're-" Mum started but was interrupted by dad.
"We're worried about you, Andrew," dad said and I lowered my head. "We think it would be better if you got away from this place...at least for a while." I looked up, my eyes wide. Did they want to send me away? Send me to some boarding school miles away?
"Your dad has been offered a job," mum said, bringing my attention back to the conversation. "He wasn't originally going to take it, because it is so far away. But, it might be good for you to get a fresh start somewhere else..." I nodded slowly, thinking it over.
"How far away?" I asked.
"About 5 hours drive," dad said and I nodded again, growing to like the idea more with every passing second.
"Where?" I asked.
"Newcastle," he said and I nodded.
"Let's go," I said, standing up. Both my parents looked understandably surprised.
"Really? You don’t want to think it over?" mum asked, a slight frown denting her brows.
"No, I want to get out of this place, leave that school behind me," I said and both my parents frowned, concerned. I hadn’t told them what had been happening, and I think they only just realised that it was more severe than they had thought. "When do we go?" I asked.
"Next week," dad said. "I will talk to my boss, tell him I'll take the job. But, Andrew, are you sure about this?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm going to go start packing." And with that, I walked out of the room and upstairs.

I sat down on my bed and looked around the room. I guessed I would miss it, I mean, I grew up in here. But I wasn't going to miss the memories this room inspired. I couldn’t wait to get rid of them, to get out of this place and forget about him. it wasn't the bullying so much, I mean, I could deal with that. It was just being forced to see Cameron every day. Being forced to see my heart's desire and not be able to do anything about it. Not that doing anything about it would be a good idea anyway, but...I still wished Cameron was different. I wished he was like me, that he wanted meand not the popularity. I should have seen it coming, though. I mean, he brought up the popular group a lot, he was desperate to be a part of their group. I just hadn’t realised how desperate he was.

And so, one week later, my parents and I piled into the car and started the long journey to Newcastle. I looked out the window as we left. It was Tuesday, everyone was at school. We drove passed the playground at break time and I saw all my old school mates (for lack of a better word) outside playing. I scanned the groups, hoping for one last glance of Cameron. I finally located him, but my heart lurched when I realised he was looking directly back at me. We stared at each other and it was as though the world had slowed down, the look was intense and powerful. But then the car drove away from the school, and I was finally able to leave Cameron James, and all the popular people who despised me for no real reason, behind me. Never to see them again.

A sense of relief swept through me, followed by something else; a sense that I was making a mistake.