About Us

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  • Rating:
  • Published: 14 Jun 2015
  • Updated: 14 Jun 2015
  • Status: Complete
If Welcome Distraction was a full length story with a whole cast of characters, numerous plot twists and a captivating story line, this is how I imagined it would end.

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2. About Us

I was eighteen and you were almost and I wasn’t in love with you yet. We were in rehab and we made quite a pair: a heroin addict befriending a pessimistic alcoholic. It was silent when you asked me if I ever thought about loving someone other than him. I didn’t know what you were trying to ask. I changed the subject and ignored the way you bit your lip and didn’t look me in the eye when you said that you were going to be released from rehab in a couple of days.

 

You were still eighteen and I had just turned nineteen, finally free from rehab, and your hand lingered too long on the small of my back. The streets were crowded and, if we weren’t as close as we were, I would think you were just trying to help me. I knew you too well to fall for that. We went to Starbucks and you bought me a caramel macchiato; we were a mess of tangled legs and shy smiles hidden behind china coffee cups as we nestled on our favorite sofa. I forgot for a moment that you were in love with me.

 

Both nineteen, you asked me to live with you and I said yes because we were best friends, weren’t we? Best friends could hold hands sometimes, you told me when we were cuddled on the couch watching reruns of shitty reality shows. I had never had a best friend before I met you and when it’s our first New Year’s Eve together in your apartment and you press a sloppy drunk kiss to my lips I let you, because it’s what best friends did, wasn’t it?

 

You turned twenty and I was still wildly in love with you. You blew out the candles on your cake and my arms were crossed tightly over my chest; I gave you an even tighter smile when you looked at me with your pale green eyes. As you finally looked away from me and back to your parents, I told myself that that wouldn’t be the year when I told you I loved you.

 

It was only when you were cradling my face in your room one week later that I blurt out that I had loved you since I was eighteen. It was true as you dropped your hands and stared at me. It was true as I pressed my lips to yours and you didn’t kiss me back. It was true as you left the apartment and came back drunk. It was true as I let you kiss me when I knew you wouldn’t remember in the morning. I had loved you since I was eighteen, you told me, and I let myself believe it until I woke up and you weren’t there.

 

I was twenty-one and you weren’t in love with me anymore. I could see it in the way you looked at me then, colder than before but warm enough that you could fool others who were watching. You knew that I was still awake at four in the morning and you knew that I couldn’t sleep without knowing that you weren’t mad at me, even though you woke up mad and hadn’t talked to me for a day and a half. I was sorry that I missed out on you.

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