Forelsket.

Lindsay had decided (for herself and me) that we would, in fact, not be sleeping in a bed, let alone our beds. I don’t think it really hit me until I was sitting up, watching everyone as they had passed out. I felt uncomfortable looking at them all – though, all the most unfamiliar people had vanished and the only ones that had remained were the ‘basics’. Except for me – the feeling that I didn’t belong there came creeping back up to my brain. I had curled up in a spot on the carpeted floor, away from everyone. And even then, I felt too close to them.

My eyes, I kept them trained on John, he was laying on his stomach, sprawled out on the floor with a blanket covering his body. At the very precise moment I began to wonder why he didn’t go up to bed, he began to stir and I closed my eyes quickly when I saw him rise to his feet. I couldn’t see him, with my eyes closed and all, but I pictured his tired eyes looking around his living room, all his friends, the people he trusted laying right before him. I thought of him smiling, and that made me begin to smile for him – I couldn’t help it, really. It was a small smile, but I felt it. And I think that’s what mattered.

I heard Johns feet drag across the carpet, felt him near me. I began to get nervous – I shook as I felt him standing over me. And my mind panicked and I thought, here we go. I kept thinking that he really fooled me – that he was just like grandpa. The only thing that halted my thoughts completely was the feeling of a comfortable fabric being placed over my body. And, he just walked away then. I opened one eye, watched as he ascended up the stairs, to his room.

My heart seemed to swell – I felt like the Grinch when he saved Christmas. Like it grew a few sizes too big. I couldn’t help the warm feeling that washed over me as my fingers ghosted over the blanket.

And I wasn’t sure what I was trying to do: convince myself that John was nothing like Grandpa, or convince myself that John was exactly like grandpa.

I couldn’t really understand if I trusted him, but didn’t want to. Because it was too fast – I didn’t know him that well. Or, if I wanted to trust him.

Then again, either way you look at it, I supposed that John had either gained my trust already, or was starting to. I shook at the thought.

When I moved to settle my brain, I noticed the blanket smelled like he did.

I brought it up to my chin, my eyes open and alert.

I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep in a strange house, with strange people.

But, I had fallen asleep in the morning, just an hour or two before Lindsay leaned close to my ear and firmly told me to get up, or she would leave without me. I was even hesitant to throw the blanket away from my body, but I stood up anyways, and folded it. John was up, standing at the door with messy hair, a lazy smile on his face, and only a shirt and boxers covering his body. I looked down to my feet, and tried my hardest not to bite my lip – what a bad habit that was.

I shuffled over to the door to put Lindsays boots back onto my feet and turned to John while he was talking to Tim. I didn’t want to say anything – I really did want to go unnoticed. My shaking hands gripped the blanket and suddenly, I found them lurching forward to hold the blanket out in front of John. Their conversation stopped, and I felt them look at me – Lindsay too.

“T-thanks.” I glanced at him – not long enough to remember the smile on his face, but long enough to at least notice it.

“Any time, Liese.”

“Come on,” Lindsay grumbled, “They’re going to be here for another five minutes. At least.” I saw her reach into Tims pocket, and grab his car keys. I followed her at the door, and I so desperately wanted to look back at John before I left, just to see his face one more time. And that was weird for me – and it wasn’t right and it made me so incredibly nervous. I couldn’t tell if it was fantastic or terribly frightening. If I was terrified, or if I felt safe.

I tugged open the back door of Tims car once Lindsay unlocked it and got in, immediately fiddling with my fingers, staring down at my lap. I heard the front seat where Lindsay was sat groan, and I looked up to see her peering over the head rest at me. She was smiling, and I cocked my head to the side in curiosity.

She rolled her eyes when I didn’t say anything.

“So,” She urged, “Have fun last night?” I felt as though there was a suggestion in her voice, and I swallowed a lump that had been spawning in my throat since I gave John the blanket back.

“I think so,” I whispered, going back to look at my hands in my lap.

I pictured Lindsay cocking one eyebrow up her forehead before she said, “you think so?”

I nodded my head a few times, “Yes.”

I cringed when I heard Tim yank open the door, and Lindsay sighed before turning back around in her seat. The ride home was silent.

And, for once, so was my mind.


I was flooded with questions at dinner – My mother wanted to know every bit of what I did and said that Johns party. She seemed proud that I actually went. She turned to my father and Grandfather at dinner and said, “she went to a party! With friends!”. I didn’t bother to correct her on the friends part, I just gave her a weak smile. My dad looked at me, and smiled before he shook his head to look at my mother and say, “I know”. I looked at Lindsay, to see her bored, irritated expression, and I finally thought the questions were over. But Lindsay caught me staring at her, and a wicked smile smeared across her lips.

“Saw you hanging with Johno, Liese,” She grinned. I felt myself pale, and I stole a nervous glance toward my Grandfather. He was holding eye contact with my as he coughed, and for a split moment, my mother and father were looking at him, and not me. I felt almost relieved. But I bit on my lip when his coughing stopped. I was still afraid of grandpa. And he still had power over me – I knew it. And so did he. He didn’t want me around John, and he had expressed it before.

“John?” My mothers eye brows had popped up in interest and she gave me a suggestive smile, “Who’s this John, Annaliese?”

I shrugged, tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, and put my shaking hands into my lap.

“Lindsays friend,” I whispered, “I don’t really know him.” But I knew enough to know that he wasn’t like Grandpa. Running over every time I’ve come into contact with him – I realized that. He just couldn’t be like Grandpa. Not someone like him.

“You should by now,” Lindsay snorted, “You spent, like, the whole night with him.” I wanted to scream, but I just looked at her.

“I just gave him a birthday gift…” My voice shook in time with my hands and I just wanted to get out of the situation.

“So,” My mother urged. “Tell me about John.”

I wish she would stop saying his name like that. But I shook my head.

“I’m tired,” I quietly rose from my seat and took my plate to the counter. “I’m going to nap.” It was true, at least. I was tired.

I was tired of this secret.

I was tired of my parents being so worried about friends.

I was tired of Lindsay hating me.

I was tired of being awake.

I was tired of being alive.

So the only thing I wanted to do was sleep.

“Okay, honey,” my dad excused. And as I left the room, I heard my father saying ‘leave her be’ to my mother.

When I got into my room, I closed the door behind me and nearly jumped into my bed and covered myself as much as I could while still leaving a space to breathe. I shut my eyes, and fell asleep (somehow) through racing thoughts.


It was three days later that Grandpa was actually feeling okay. He wasn’t in as much pain as he previously had been. I didn’t know if I should be glad or terrified of him. I spent the whole day watching television with him – because my father pulled me aside and told me to keep grandpa company while they went to work and Lindsay went out (probably with Tim). Even though, I knew I didn’t have to, I felt bad if I didn’t, so I stayed put (on a different couch) most of the day. By the time lunch had rolled around, my head was echoing rough coughs, imagining his pot-belly shaking in response to them. I shivered and stood from my spot on the couch.

When I stood, I didn’t exactly feel right – I felt nauseous and nervous. I shook with anxiety, and all I had wanted to do was run. I tried to convince myself I was over-reacting, so I looked over at my grandpa, who was staring right at the television, as though he didn’t notice my movement.

“I-I’m making lunch, grandpa,” I said quietly, “What would you like to eat?” He turned his head toward me, and smiled. I hated his smile, because it only ever seemed sinister, and his teeth were brown and rotted, crooked at the bottom. I cringed, but held his stare, even though I was shaking, even though my knees felt weak.

“This John,” he rasped, “He th’boy from th’ice cre’m shop?” I nodded, and watched as my grandfather sighed, and put both his hands on the couch to support himself. He slowly stood to his feet and wobbled over to me – too close. Too close.

“I don’ like the way he stares a’ye,” he said, “thought I tol’ye tha?”

“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered, trying to move backward. His hand quickly circled around my wrist, and he yanked me toward him. I felt my eyes get wide, I felt them sting. I felt bile circling in the pit of my stomach as grandpa shook his head.

“Don’ think tha’s enough of a sorry, Peanut.” He grumbled, “Come’ere.” But I didn’t really have a choice, he simply dragged me all the way up the stairs to my room, and I wondered why he seemed to strong when he was so sick. And I wondered why I was so unable to move and run away. I couldn’t really wrap my head around it. It was easy for him after he had thrown me onto my bed. He sat on top of my legs after he had (as quickly as he could) taken it upon himself to clear my bottom half from the fabric which previously hid it. I was frozen – I didn’t know why but I couldn’t move, and I was so angry that I couldn’t. So I just shut my eyes tightly, and I gulped at his rough, old hands squeezed my cheeks hard enough to leave a mark. The inside of my cheeks dug into my teeth, and his breathing was heavy and hard as it fanned over my face.

“I tol’ ye,” he huffed with a hard thrust. It didn’t hurt anymore. “Not ta talk.” Another thrust. “ta that boy.” And he finished, collapsing on top of me. He took his hand from my face and wiped the tears that leaked onto his skin on my pillow. He rolled off of me, and sat up as he coughed on the bed. The impact made my bed move, and I was silent as I stared up at the white ceiling and thought to myself that I’d never be able to comfortably sleep in my own bed again. He’d already ruined life for me – and he had to go and ruin my dream world too.

My tears were silent and calm, even if I was mad, frustrated.

“I love ye’, Peanut,” he grumbled after his coughing fit was over. He pulled his pants back on and slowly wobbled out the door, giving his pot-belly a scratch and one last look toward me.

“Ye were alwa’s my fav’rite.” He closed the door, and I heard another round of coughs before I was left alone with the silence.

I felt disgusted with myself – I felt a scream begin to rise, so I turned onto my stomach and muted my scream into the pillow. But I felt my throat get scratched by the noise, and I kicked my legs all over my bed. My crying, by then, had gained sound, the pillow got hot and uncomfortable from my exhaling. My nose was stuffed, just like this room. And I needed to leave.

I managed to calm myself down and I stood up, collected new clothing and carried myself into the bathroom to scrub away as much filth as I could. But I knew that the filth was part of me, and it would never come off. I think that’s what hurt me the most. I nearly scrubbed until I bled, and got out of the shower, pulled on a black sweater, grey skinny jeans and went into my room to get my Doc Martens. Before I left my room to go put my other clothing into the dirty laundry, I looked at myself in a mirror.

I frowned at myself, because I looked destroyed. And my eyes were puffy, my face was blotted, and my nose was red, and I could see a small bruise developing from where his index finger dug into my flesh. Even so, my decision was made.

I was going to tell someone.

At least, I hoped.


As quick as that decision was made, I found myself standing before a hardly familiar house, and my cell phone had been ringing the entire walk here. It rang again – Lindsay again. I hung up instead of answering and stuffed it back in my pocket. I felt my hands shake and saw a car pull up into the drive way. I jumped and bit on my lip. Should I walk away or -

“Hi,” I looked up at the woman – John’s mother – and she smiled, but looked confused. “are you looking for John?” I was still for a moment (besides from my racing heart and shaking hands). I thought about it, I weighed my options.

“I told ye’ not ta talk ta tha’ boy.”

I shook my head at the woman, “S-sorry…No.” She nodded and reached into the back seat to grab bags. I began to walk away.

Something made me stop though – and I didn’t know what – and I turned around. I walked up to Johns mother.

“Excuse me?” I whispered, “I’m sorry. I- I think I’d like to see John.” She smiled and nodded.

“Okay, hun.”

“Could I help you with the bags?” Before she answered, I carefully lifted bags from the car, and smiled at her. I didn’t know how else to thank her – and there were so many bags. She closed the door with her foot and lead me to the door.

“Thank you,” She smiled wider – it looked just like Johns. “Got three kids,” she laughed, “but this is the one thing they leave completely to me.” I smiled at her – I felt bad that it was fake. I was extremely nervous, though – too nervous to smile genuinely.

She opened the front door slowly and carefully, and (while carrying her bags to the kitchen) said, “John, someones here to see you”. She told me to set the bags down near the door, and thanked me. I nodded, and looked toward my hands, fiddling with them as best as I could while they shook violently.

I gulped as I heard foot steps and a faint “okay” sounding.

No matter how hard I was shaking, I kept thinking, it’s time.