I Don't Want to Fall in Love... With You

"Anya? Could you wait behind please?" The voice from the front of the classroom alerted me.

I blinked fast, my head almost toppling off my palm. Everybody was gathering their things and Emily mouthed at me that she'd get me at her car. Closing my books over, I met the eyes of Mrs Jenkins, whose grin was nothing but genuine.

I tucked my hair behind my ear as I made my way over. I thought I had an inkling what this was about.

"Um, if it's about..."

"It's nothing to do with your work, dear, it's brilliant as always. So, there is no point in beating around the bush about this," She pursed her lips, relaxing back in her chair as she regarded me. "I'm worried about you."

The confusion must have been all over my face, as she chuckled. I liked it when she did. Mrs Jenkins was by no means unattractive – in fact, she may be the loveliest lady I've ever met, in looks and grace. She's a positive person, whose honesty guided her to bettering people and taking no credit for making them that way.

So, her laugh was contagious as I found myself holding back.

"You seemed to be in a far-off place today and I pretty much guessed there was no hope reaching you. You stared out the window throughout all of class."

I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, I just..." I stopped myself. I liked her and all, but I couldn't spill my worries to her. She would only tell me what I knew to be true anyway, it's not like I could expect anything else.

Her eyebrows furrowed and her sparkling lips pouted, obviously disappointed with such an awesome excuse.

Then, like a lightbulb icon shone above her head, she grinned manically.

"Is it a boy? You shouldn't be ashamed to have a crush, dearie."

I expelled air. Well, she was wrong about that, wasn't she? Besides, shame didn't have a spot on what I was experiencing right now.

"I-it's not a boy." I was tracing patterns on her desk. I think it was a bird, I'm not sure.

"Oh, okay. Girls are more interesting anyway."

My eyes bulged.

"No! I mean... no, it's not a girl either. If anything, I'm making it more complicated." I didn't need to say much after that, she quickly caught onto what I was on about.

Elijah was my best friend's dad and perhaps the closest I'd had to one in years. Normally, girls would be creeped out by now, but there was something about him I'd always found fascinating.

I had crushed on him for months when I was fourteen, back when his wife was still alive. I'd told her about it and she claimed it was common for girls my age, jokingly telling him I loved him. At the time, he'd winked at me and said he loved me too.

And, so maybe it was a reaction like that which caused me to reconsider my feelings. I couldn't recall when they stopped, or been subdued. Right now, I was just grasping onto anything that proved to me that my crush wasn't an insane one.

It was completely rational that a girl like me would be interested in a tall, handsome and wonderful person such as him. I mean, what idiot wouldn't be?

He was courageous. He encouraged me on my studies, joined in with my activities and went out his way to make me smile.

He was like a dream come true...

I guess the only thing that frightened me was the fact he was a legal adult.

And I wasn't.

I wouldn't be for another two months, which meant I couldn't pursue anything with him until then. Even then, it would be frowned upon, out of abhorrence more so than it being illegal.

I mentally rolled my eyes at myself. What was I even doing? Elijah and I had only just kissed, there was no need to over evaluate everything.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Anya. Crushes develop and they can dissolve. Just promise me you'll be careful?" Mrs Jenkin's smile faltered, as if she couldn't believe she had to explain this to me.

I nodded swiftly, backing off. Honestly, I'd be better off going home and thinking everything over.

"I will. I'll see you tomorrow." I waved at her over my shoulder as I entered the abandoned hallways. If I kept on like this, I was worried my thoughts would be scattered all over the premises.

I exited the building and headed for the car park, catching sight of my best friend laughing manically along with Ryan Scott.

This type of scene wasn't unusual. Every once in a blue moon, the two of them would share a handful of minutes together and then never agree to hang out. Or date, for that matter.

I caught up, eavesdropping in the conversation before I was added into the fold.

"... and I was completely prepared to take him down. Stance, check. Focus point, check. Then, when the game commenced, of course, I tripped and my foil hit my chest. There you go... I was instantly disqualified." Ryan guffawed, using his whole body as emphasis, like always.

Oh, they were talking about fencing. I remember Emily expressing interest in it, but I reckoned her reasons were mainly person-centered than they were for wanting to take up a new hobby.

"Hey, Anya. Did Jenkins rough you up?"

I smiled softly. "No, we just talked."

Although Emily stayed quiet, Ryan had always been one to speak his mind.

"Oh yeah? I can see why, you don't seem like yourself today. Everything alright?"

Despite how the 'popular crowd' was normally portrayed in media and fiction, Ryan didn't live up to that reputation. And, with his never-ending reign as supreme leader of high school, Ryan was good company. He was funny and upbeat and, when he did speak to me, I never saw a reason to hate him. Obviously, I wasn't the only one, as he was secured title of Prom King later this year.

He was the whole package, one might say. With spiky hair that rivalled the sun for brightness and a smile so wide bananas would be envious, it was hard to ask; what's not to like?

So, I didn't lie, but I didn't plan on revealing my life story to him, either.

"I'm not sure, thanks for asking though."

He shrugged, then patted me on the arm.

"Anything for a mate." Grinning once more, he inhaled sharply. "In fact, now that you're here, there's something I've been meaning to ask both of you."

Emily and I exchanged glances. I didn't know if he was up to anything or not.

"Would you girls like to go out on Friday? Just as, like, a casual meet-up with friends."

Before I even got the chance to edge a word in, Emily agreed. Then, in a flurry, they were discussing times, dress code and soon enough, we were in her car, leaving school grounds.

I glared at her and she rolled her eyes as we pulled out, quickly waving goodbye to him.

"It's not going to be too much trouble, is it? I mean, he did ask nicely." She shrugged, tapping thumbs on the steering wheel, eyes fixated on the road. Either that or she was too nervous to face me.

You know what? That wouldn't surprise me, we both knew I had a temper.

"No, it's fine, I just wish you'd let me chip in."

"Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Pfft, don't lie to me, girl. I get it, you want the D."

She burst out laughing as we continued the drive and, finally enough, she dropped me off home. Looking at the house, I was all of a sudden overcome with a distinct sense of loneliness.

When she was gone, I entered the compact home. My mother was a banker and she made enough money to keep us grounded, but she was also quite a frugal. Fancy homes and large gardens weren't for her.

Perhaps another reason we'd stayed here all these years was because a needy, crazy drunk-in-love part of her was still waiting for my father to return to us, as if nothing had happened.

Upon my arrival, our Egyptian cat, Bastet, dropped down from the key bowl and hissed at my feet.

I nudged her away and continued my venture into the house. It was nothing grand, with sickly beige walls and an archway leading into other parts of the structure. We'd adorned it in plants and certifications, as well as a few uncomfortable photographs of my mom snuggling Bastet.

"Mom?" I called, my feet already taking me to where I knew she'd be.

Opening the door to the spare room, I quickly scanned over the contents and spotted her, head-to-toe covered in vibrant colors.

The blotches on her skin and clothes didn't startle me, I was used to this. I was, however, taken aback by the art on the easel.

"Wow, mom, you're getting so much better." Rubbing her back, she leaned into me, gazing at it with me.

My mother had been practising with paint for a year or so now, but hadn't bothered to enrol in any classes, claiming they were money grabbing. Yet, if you looked closely, although she was definitely an amateur, you could make out the brushstroke in full detail. The way she handled the brush was masterful.

This piece, in particular, was beautiful. She did a lot of self-portraits, taking inspiration from Freida Kahlo, saying she was the subject she knew best. How she portrayed emotion was raw and always provoked thought, it was a true talent to have.

Looking at my withdrawn, withering mother in the still of an oil painting made me appreciate the real one more.

I grabbed her hand and led her into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table and tucking a napkin into her shirt. She didn't look at me.

I made us homemade broth for dinner, patting away the remainders around her mouth and making a joke about it, as I always do.

But she didn't laugh with me.

Swallowing down the lump that had begun to form in my throat, I took away her cold bowl when it became clear she was done. Nearly as soon as I reached the sink, she'd stood up and padded her way back towards the free room, to finish off her portrait.

So, I got to the dish washing, ignoring the ping of my phone, informing me I had a new text. I had to clean these plates and glasses. There was no room for any of Emily's distractions.

It was as I was running fresh hot water into the broth smeared pot that I struggled to see. I stepped back again, clutching my last plate.

Breathe in, I told myself, and back out. I'd been disregarding my exercises lately, I had to learn not to forget about them. They were important.

I had to take time out for me.

It was the most stupid thing I'd ever heard, nothing else could top it. There was no time for selfishness when you were me.

My face was warm and bathing itself in the holy grail of sadness. It was like my head had been dunked into the water – unable to ever come back up for air.

I was drowning.

And yet, when I looked back up and noticed that I had dropped the plate on the floor, I was face-to-face with my own reflection in the window, staring back at me with the most lifeless eyes.

So clear, so crystallized.

Chest crushed and windpipe begging for oxygen, the water continued to pour, the bricks tied to my feet keeping me down. I was being wrenched down to the bottom, the pressure enough to kill me on its own.

I couldn't be saved.