Urgh
Why is it that when you spend a lot of time thinking about something, dreaming about it, hoping it'll happen, you're so excited? When it's just a far of imaginary vision, a daydream of what could happen. Everything seems so idyllic then. You pretend you aren't thinking about it, stealing little glances at him from down the table at lunch, but of course you spend every other second wondering what it would be like. And then he starts to pay attention to you, starts to acknowledge you. You end up flirting. A hug here, a compliment there.
And then he leans over and asks you.
"Do you want to go out sometime?"
You act coy, play hard-to-get, and you say you have to think about it. He smiles.
It haunts you all through the math test that afternoon. You think you did well on the test. What's 5a+6b? God, he's so hot. 2x divided by y= 10? What would it BE like?
You think about it all night. It actually is a hard decision. He's a nice enough guy, but he can be a real creep sometimes. He's immature, in that 17-year-old boy sort of way. He's done drugs, and drank alcohol (he says he's cleaned up). The scars up and down his arms, i criss-cross patterns, spook you. The big , angry red X on his chest is disturbingly recent. Dating him isn't really so much as "sharing" him with a few other people. It's a well-known fact that all he's screwed all his girlfriends, and you just are NOT ready for that. You'll be fifteen at the end of the month, and by ANYONE sane's standards, that is way too young. You know you'd be able to refuse. You're the not the type that gets pushed into things easily. But you're nervous.
Nervous. You won't admit that he scares you. Not out loud.
God, it scares you.
The next day you smile and act like normal. At lunch, he sits you on his lap and puts his arm around you. He's tall, broad. Huge, compared to you. You crack a Santa joke and immediately wish you hadn't. You can feel your friends staring. You're face burns. You bite back nervous laughter. It's SO awkward, perched on his knee (It's vaugely paedophilic, in a Freudian way, and you wonder if it's all a father substitute).
Your friend breaks into uncontrollable laughter, and chokes out that you look like a ventriloquist's dummy. You realize that she isn't far off: You feel like a marionette. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes. It's held up by puppet strings.
You clamber off as soon as you can. You feel like you're drowning in yourself.
Exsanguination, they call it. Bleeding to death.
On the ride home, your friend makes jokes and crude remarks. Implies things you don't want to think about. You get home, and take a deep breath of fresh air.
Inside the house, you go to your room. Do your homework. practice the guitar. You head downstairs and make a bowl of steaming ramen. You sit on the floor in the living room and watch The Iron Giant on VHS. You stuff your face with chocolate bars. Somewhere along the line, you realize that you're depressed.
You sit in your house, with an empty bowl and some candy wrappers, and you suddenly feel so, so empty. You feel more alone than you have in years, and GOD, how you miss being a child. Te nostalgia and grief and longing wash over you like a tidal wave, and you realize then that all you want to do is curl into a ball and sleep, and sleep, and sleep, until you wake up a kid again, and you don't have to worry about this.
Why is it always that when you wish and wish and wish for something, it's never as good as you think it will be? How come, when wishes do come true, they turn into nightmares?
I want to hide from my dreams. I just want them to go away.