You're Worth Losing My Self-Esteem.
Chapter 4
In the weeks to come they were just friends, they had the occasional hug, odd flirtation, but overall it seemed platonic. Well, to anyone else it did, but to them it was so much more.
They would only see each other once each week, Saturday, not nearly enough.
Elle could easily remember the moment she knew she had fell for him. It was early September, cold, but not the common below freezing temperature England usually was.
She was sat with her group of friends talking, she didn’t even notice him – a rare occurrence – until his put his arms around her from behind. It seemed as though he was ready to protect her from anything and everything, she loved it. Her heart was beating abnormally and she could swear she was physically shaking. She couldn’t help but look up at him; he was bent down and yet he was still a whole head taller than her. He rested his head on hers as she chewed her lip, anxious and scared. She could hear her heart screaming at her and she knew. In that moment she knew, she had fallen for him.
She knew her liked her, as a friend of course. He repeatedly told her how he liked her, but she struggled to believe it. If he liked her he would have done something about it. It got her thinking incessantly; would he like her if he knew who she really was?
When they were together, in fact when she was around anyone, she spoke of nothings. She would not let herself speak anything of importance. She could not let anyone know the truth. And so she was fake, somewhat popular. But with being popular, there comes a price. She would spend her time paranoid, if she took one wrong step, she would fall. And falling, being unpopular, that was worse than faking it.
And so she had a vice, the one thing that kept her going; her secret stash. The drugs underneath her bed; hidden from others. They were put away in her old shoe box, along with a bottle of vodka – of course. She knew, when the time came that she couldn’t stand being fake anymore or when everyone found out the truth about her, that she had an escape.
And when that vice didn’t comfort her, she would hold her own hand, pretend it was someone else’s. She would make-believe that it was someone who wanted her, someone who cared about her; not who she pretended to be.
They had a few days when they met up on their own, no one else. She loved it, they were so honest and happy together, it was a picture of perfection. It was the first time she admitted to him in person that she liked him. He said farewell as she got on the train, blowing her kisses, and following as far as he could as it moved further and further away.
The next time they met up he had a girlfriend.
Of course she couldn’t let him know this bothered her. That day when he asked her who she liked she replied no one, she could not admit the truth and after all he had a girlfriend. He looked suddenly saddened by this. “It’s not like you still like me” She told him simply, “I actually do, I actually do” he repeated. Silly boy, she didn’t want to be that bitch trying to steal another girls boyfriend. She loved that day and yet she hated it at the same time. He was so sweet and lovely she couldn’t help but fall for him. He had given her his jacket when it got cold, wrote ‘Kyle loves Elle’ on her bag and told her he would protect her whilst putting his arm around her. She didn’t think it was possibly to fall harder, and yet she did, much harder.
This farewell was more dramatic than their others; riots around them caused him to be holding her close - safe. He was going to be late but he didn’t care, he needed to know she was on her train secure. And so they waited together among the riot. She loved how sweet he was to her. Despite the fact he had a girlfriend, she loved it, she loved him.
This was not the last moment they shared though. Elle had a party, her mother would be far to wasted herself to notice anything different. And at this point he had broken up with his girlfriend and she took a chance. She told him she liked him, and he reacted by telling her he didn’t know how to respond. He had decided he was gay again, what was he supposed to say?
Things changed to nothing more and they stayed platonic. But neither could deny the fact; they both felt something, even if they wouldn’t admit it.
They would only see each other once each week, Saturday, not nearly enough.
Elle could easily remember the moment she knew she had fell for him. It was early September, cold, but not the common below freezing temperature England usually was.
She was sat with her group of friends talking, she didn’t even notice him – a rare occurrence – until his put his arms around her from behind. It seemed as though he was ready to protect her from anything and everything, she loved it. Her heart was beating abnormally and she could swear she was physically shaking. She couldn’t help but look up at him; he was bent down and yet he was still a whole head taller than her. He rested his head on hers as she chewed her lip, anxious and scared. She could hear her heart screaming at her and she knew. In that moment she knew, she had fallen for him.
She knew her liked her, as a friend of course. He repeatedly told her how he liked her, but she struggled to believe it. If he liked her he would have done something about it. It got her thinking incessantly; would he like her if he knew who she really was?
When they were together, in fact when she was around anyone, she spoke of nothings. She would not let herself speak anything of importance. She could not let anyone know the truth. And so she was fake, somewhat popular. But with being popular, there comes a price. She would spend her time paranoid, if she took one wrong step, she would fall. And falling, being unpopular, that was worse than faking it.
And so she had a vice, the one thing that kept her going; her secret stash. The drugs underneath her bed; hidden from others. They were put away in her old shoe box, along with a bottle of vodka – of course. She knew, when the time came that she couldn’t stand being fake anymore or when everyone found out the truth about her, that she had an escape.
And when that vice didn’t comfort her, she would hold her own hand, pretend it was someone else’s. She would make-believe that it was someone who wanted her, someone who cared about her; not who she pretended to be.
They had a few days when they met up on their own, no one else. She loved it, they were so honest and happy together, it was a picture of perfection. It was the first time she admitted to him in person that she liked him. He said farewell as she got on the train, blowing her kisses, and following as far as he could as it moved further and further away.
The next time they met up he had a girlfriend.
Of course she couldn’t let him know this bothered her. That day when he asked her who she liked she replied no one, she could not admit the truth and after all he had a girlfriend. He looked suddenly saddened by this. “It’s not like you still like me” She told him simply, “I actually do, I actually do” he repeated. Silly boy, she didn’t want to be that bitch trying to steal another girls boyfriend. She loved that day and yet she hated it at the same time. He was so sweet and lovely she couldn’t help but fall for him. He had given her his jacket when it got cold, wrote ‘Kyle loves Elle’ on her bag and told her he would protect her whilst putting his arm around her. She didn’t think it was possibly to fall harder, and yet she did, much harder.
This farewell was more dramatic than their others; riots around them caused him to be holding her close - safe. He was going to be late but he didn’t care, he needed to know she was on her train secure. And so they waited together among the riot. She loved how sweet he was to her. Despite the fact he had a girlfriend, she loved it, she loved him.
This was not the last moment they shared though. Elle had a party, her mother would be far to wasted herself to notice anything different. And at this point he had broken up with his girlfriend and she took a chance. She told him she liked him, and he reacted by telling her he didn’t know how to respond. He had decided he was gay again, what was he supposed to say?
Things changed to nothing more and they stayed platonic. But neither could deny the fact; they both felt something, even if they wouldn’t admit it.