Chapter 10 When You Start to Want Things

The thing about getting close to someone is- you start to want things.

A glance. A smile. A text you don't have to over analyse. A seat saved beside you. A secret kept safe.

It starts small.

Then suddenly, it's 2 a.m. and you are wondering how someone's laugh could feel like a shelter.

I told myself I wouldn't get attached.

I've spent the last two years building walls tall enough to keep out everything that hurts. And now here she is- this girl with those pretty brown eyes, oversized sleeves and restless hands- ruining everything.

Today, I heard my grandfather coughing through the bedroom wall. It was rougher than usual.

He won't say anything. He never does.

But the hospital bills stacked on the kitchen counter are taller than my textbooks now.

Ginny's sitting next to me in class. She doesn't ask questions anymore.

That almost hurts more.

She's pulling away- slowly, like she doesn't want me to notice. And all I want to do is tell her not to.

But I can't.

Because if I ask her to stay, she'll expect me to stay too.

And I don't know if I can. Not when things at home are falling apart quietly.

I drew another flower today. Didn't mean to.

I think that's the worst part. When feelings show up in places you didn't invite them into.

I keep thinking of what she said the other day: "You don't talk much, but when you do, it feels like it matters."

And I wanted to tell her- That's exactly why I stay quiet.

Because if I speak, she'll know.

And if she knows, she might care.

And if she cares- she might break.

And I couldn't handle breaking her.

Not when I'm already breaking everything else.