Member-only story
The Ghost of You
I watched you get into his car from the door, the ghost of your hand in mine.
I was holding your hand so softly. As if I’d been given the chance to touch an angel. It was a disbelieving, hesitant touch. Hesitant not only because your boyfriend was in the kitchen downing beers with his friends, but because I knew my heart was opening up to you after years of forcing it shut. I should’ve predicted that a simple touch and those eyes of yours would have that effect eventually. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve gone pretending.
I knew from the first time we met that I loved you. That love has evolved into something deeper and passionate, but there was an innocent love even from the beginning. I was a five-year-old student joining a classroom of seven-year-olds. You were all taller, but my brain and intelligence matched yours. Everyone avoided me because I was younger and smaller, but you walked to me and grabbed my hand the way I was holding yours.
At the party, there were tears under your blue eyes. One dripped onto your lips. It was a scene we’d relived so many times before. He’d say something stupid, something hurtful that broke my heart as much as it did yours, you’d run away to the bathroom or an isolated corner, and I’d chased after you hoping to make you smile. But something was different this time…
