Love is a tedious thing

I’m not the kind of girl guys fall in love with. I’m not particularly beautiful, or attractive. I don’t have a great personality, and I prefer books to people.
So, when the most popular, attractive guy asks me out, I think it’s a joke and say no. And I walk away with no regrets. He comes after me and asks me why I won’t go out with him. I tell him that I know that the only reason he wants to date me is to get into my pants and that he would use me and loose me. I fell for that once and I’m not about to do it again. He looked shocked, so I took this as confirmation that I was right and took it as an opportunity to leave. He didn’t come after me. I didn’t expect him too.
When I got home that night I did what I did every night, finish my homework, take a shower, cut, clean up the blood, wrap the wound in a bandage, cry, read a book so I have an excuse for crying in case someone comes in and fall asleep. No one ever comes. Today, however, I make a mistake when I’m slicing up my arms, I cut from my wrist up to my elbow, not a shallow cut either. Blood oozes out. I quickly run to run it under water, then I grab a towel and press it to the wound in hopes to stop the bleeding. It’s not stopping. I start to feel kind of dizzy, so I decide to sit down. My vision starts swimming, and the bleeding hasn’t stopped. ‘I wanted to feel something, not die’ I think as my vision goes black.
When I wake up I realize it’s sometime in the early morning. My arm is wrapped in the towel still and I’m sitting in a small pool of blood. It’s good that I was only wearing a towel because my clothes would have been ruined other wise. I grab my phone and check the time. It’s four am. I hop in the shower and try to scrub off the blood that’s caked onto my body. As I do so I accidentally reopen the wound. I hop out of the shower and put a bandage on it. I throw on some clothes, not really caring if they match, and shove my things into my bag. I make sure to put lots of bandages and things in there too, then I wait until it’s time to head for school.

It’s right before last hour that he approaches me again. He asks if something is wrong and I politely tell him that I’m fine. He give me a look that shows he doesn’t believe me and I turn to leave. To stop me he grabs my wrist, and I shriek in pain. When he pulls his hand away, I can feel the blood pooling from my wound. He proceeds to grab my other arm and pulls me to the nurse. I ask him what he thinks he’s doing. He tells me that I haven’t been acting right all day, and that he has seen me making lots of bathroom trips and seeming sleepy. The nurses door is locked, so he drags me through office to the infermatory. Once there he makes me sit on the bed, and not so kindly rolls my sleeves up. Tears come to my eyes at that point, doesn’t even look at me as he works. Pulling the bloody bandage off my arm, and replacing it with a new one. He also takes a look at the other arm. I feel very self conscious. He’s finally done, I expect him to leave and let me go back to class, instead he takes my backpack and makes me lie down, telling me to sleep. I have to admit I’m pretty tired, but there is no way I’m sleeping. He realizes this and sighs. “Why would you do that to yourself?” He finally asks. I tell him it’s because I felt numb and doing that helped me feel something. He told me that there were better ways. I rolled my eyes.
“Oh really? Like what? It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all.” I tell him. He sighs then pats my head, as he stands up. I send him a glare. He told me to try to get some sleep, to which I nodded. It didn’t take long to fall asleep.

When I wake up he is sitting next to the bed. He asks me how I feel and in response I turn away from him, cross my arms and turn my nose up. He laughs at that and I can’t help but break into a smile. Something that hasn’t happened since before–well before The Incident. Thinking this automatically turns my smile to a frown.
“Hey what’s wrong?” He asks concerned. He puts his hand to my face to try and while away my tears. I slap his hand away and start sobbing, begging him not to touch me, because when I look at Mr. Popular I see him. The one who ruined my life. He doesn’t listen to my cries and wraps his arms around my torso and arms, preventing me from scratching and reopening the long gash on my arms. I cry into him, while he pets my hair and rocks me back and forth, whispering sweet things.
When I finally calm down I apologize for my outburst.
“It’s fine, don’t apologize. You were having a panic attack. It’s something you can’t control. Although
It might help to talk about it. I’m here to listen if you want.” I shake my head, and lean against him. He’s really comfortable.
“Just stay with me for a bit.” I whisper. I feel him nod behind me. After sitting in a nice silence for a while I find my voice to talk.
“He was two years older than me. He asked me out and took me on dates. It was wonderful. I fell hard for him. The night I told him I loved him, he raped me, but I stayed with him. I loved him. He kept raping me and I kept coming back and telling him I loved him. I thought that it was ok for him to do that because even if I didn’t want it, he did, and I thought sacrificing my body for him would make him happy. But I quickly realized that what he was doing wasn’t right after consulting my sister. I confronted him, told him we were over. He was angry. He knew I talked to my sister about me and him. That night he murdered my sister and my parents, then committed suicide. I found them the next day. There was a message on the wall. It was written in blood. It said not to tell anyone about what happened between me and him.” I choke on a sob. He tells me that sounds awful. He sits with me until I’m done crying for the second time. Then he says we should probably get me home. I nod.
“Maybe you shouldn’t spend tonight alone though. Why don’t you come over to my place? I live alone with my sister. She’s very nice and understanding.” I nod and mugged out an ok. I try to walk, but completely fail. I nearly fall, but he catches me. Then he carries me out to his car.

When we get to his house, his sister is already home. I walk in, on wobbly feet. She introduces herself, and he introduces me. I sit and talk with her while he makes dinner. For the next several months I stay with them. It’s really nice. Until the anniversary of their deaths. I stay in my room, refusing to come out.
“We have to go to school.” He says from my door. I shake my head and rush to put a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.
“Let me deal with this, brother.” I hear her say. She walks in and sits down next to me. Wrapping her arms around me.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” I just shake my head.
“It’s the anniversary isn’t it?” He asks in shock. I sit up and look behind me at him.
“Ding, Ding ding. You win a gold star.” I choke out. He comes to my side wrapping his arms around me.
“Go on without us. I don’t think we are going to school today.” And with that she leaves.
“Hey no more crying. Instead of being sad that they are dead, why don’t we spend today celebrating there lives. Why don’t you take me to places they liked to go, places that hold happy memories.” Never have I ever thought of that idea. I think I’m falling for him. The rest of the day I take him places my family liked to go. My sisters favorite zoo, the restaurant we went to whenever someone had a birthday, the spot in the woods my dad would take me whenever I was having a hard time, or just wanted to talk to him. It was wonderful. We go to the restaurant last. We are sitting at a table in the back. The waiter recognizes me.
“Who’s birthday is it today? We haven’t seen you in years where have you been? Who’s this? How’s your family?” She bombards me with questions.
“It’s my birthday, and the anniversary of my parents and sisters death. Can we have waters?” I reapond hoping that the waiter doesn’t notice the but about my family and that he doesn’t notice the part about my birthday. No prevail.
“Your family is dead? That’s awful.” The waiter says giving me a pitiful look. After she leaves he decides to speak up.
“The psycho killed your family on your birthday? That’s even worse.” He says , disgusted.
“He didn’t know it was my birthday.” I defend.
“Well, happy birthday.”
Our entire meal is on the house. He tells me he has something to give me. And to close my eyes. I obey.