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"Getting Over Her (Feels a Lot Like Slamming My Head into a Wall)"

Turning back he says, "Happy Birthday, by the way. Wasn't that a couple of weeks ago, your birthday?" He watches her force a nod of confirmation. Forcing a smile and a nod of his own he rigidly turns his back and leaves.

Don't look back. He thinks. Don't do it man…What if this is the last time I ever see her? It can't be. I can't carry this glimpse of her around with me for the rest for of my life. The image of that girl I don't even know anymore.

There I was a moment. I touched her. Physically it was just her arm. The first time in so long. When I really wanted to hold onto her I held back, as hard as it was. Why is it still so hard to walk away from her? I'm telling you, getting over her feels a hell of a lot like slamming my head into a wall repeatedly. Emotionally- did I get her there? I did all this for her, because of her. Is she impressed? Is she surprised at the way I turned out? This is the first time I've come back to see her without doing something crazy- Did she notice me correct myself: "there's actually something I wanted to tell you- Show you actually..." Didn't want to freak her out with fear of another crazy confession or proposal.

In case it was the last time, I should have told her I was sorry that I never called, or at least that I never called and actually said anything. I wish I could tell her how much I thought about her that year. That at one point, the thought of possibly seeing her face just one more time in my life, kept me from killing myself.

I'm not sorry I said I loved her. I meant it. I'd never said it before, and I've never said it since. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't driven away that night. If I had just stood there in front of her until she walked away or slapped me or said something back. She thought about seeing me again, too. To kill me, or kiss me though? I don't remember if she told me or not. "Great last parting words"—that's what she said. It could have meant either.

I don't know if he ever told her this, about that night at the Winter Carnival when I confronted him about asking her to be his friend. I said he actually thought he could get her back. He pointed out how she and I had been 'just friends' before and it worked out for me. I hate him. I hate him because he had you first, and I hate him because his stupid plan worked. I hated walking into Yale and seeing him stand in front of her like that. I hate that maybe she had still loved him the whole time…

I started my new life shortly after that encounter. Everything changed so fast and all the words I had kept under all the 'huh's' for so long suddenly came spilling out of me like water and rearranging themselves on the paper before me to form lives and struggles and emotions that were not quite real, but incredibly so at the same time. Finally, I though I might be okay. Coming to see her again with my new life, my new maturity, and an accomplishment she would appreciate- I told myself it was closure. I wanted to prove to me I was okay.

But then, of course, she spoke, she smiled, she was. I miss the sound of her voice, the shine of her eyes, the sight of a book held in her delicate hands. I meant it when I said I couldn't have done it without her. I came here just to tell her that. It's just that at that moment, I finally remembered, or rather admitted, why it was I couldn't have done it without her. I swear, getting over her feels a lot like having your organs systematically cut out.

Especially now that I realize how much she's changed. Her whole life she dreamt of Harvard- Yale was a more than adequate replacement, still Ivy League, still bound to dreams of journalism. But dropping out, that's not her; she's not one to quit. She never gave up on me, a hopeless cause- what possibly could have transpired that she gave up on herself? And he is an even worse piece of evidence of her altered form. He is not even remotely her type. Wasn't he the epitome of the representation of the life her mother had risked everything to escape? He was no different than the Chilton elite that had driven her crazy and had proved to be sufficient material for hours of ranting-turned-mockery. I wish I could just shake her, just hold her, just fix this. I feel a lot like I am slowly being eaten alive.

He approaches his car, jingling the keys in his pocket.

Please don't let that be the last time I ever saw her.

He grabs the back of his neck as he unlocks the car door and gets inside. Locking himself in, he closes his eyes and breathes alone.

Please let me see her again. You know this is the only thing I ever ask for, but I'm going to say it one more time: Please, God, take care of her.

Please don't let that jerk be so drunk when he drives her home that she ends up dead in an accident. Please bring her back to Yale, and her mom, and herself. It's funny, in a way, how I've never stopped asking you for that, even when I told myself I was over her.

He opens his eyes and stares at the wheel before him for a minute before starting the engine.

All right. Time to go. Time to drive away. Away from this pit in my stomach, this pounding in my head. God, my head hurts. Thinking about her still makes my head ache sometimes. You see what she does to me? Getting over her still feels a lot like slamming my head into a wall…

Fin

♥

This is a oneshot fic- but I still appreciate reviews and comments...

My best until the next

Coco x