Hopeless

A story by xxacidxx

Story idea & help by Sandy

Chapter One: Moving Day

I don't really remember when we first met. It must have been when we could barely recall our names, because our parents had been friends for the longest time. We weren't born far apart, only a month and two days. Not that it mattered. He lived right beside me, in a large white house, just like ours. I suppose it could be called the 'rich part' of the city, but neither of us knew that. We thought that we were just like everyone else. It really had nothing to do with us that our parents had high paying jobs. I think we'd always been friends, like it was destined; our fates entwined at our birth.

As we got older, our friendship grew too, we were inseparable. Thicker than thieves, whatever that means. We always had each other's backs. The nights when his parents would fight, he'd crawl out his window and through mine, clinging to me in fear, while he tried to get his parents shouts from his head. His older brother wasn't much help, being constantly cruel to him. He had been so relieved when at last the older boy had moved to stay with his Mother, you see they were only half brothers.

My parents seldom fought, but my Dad was gone a lot. Always on some business trip to some other country. Mom tried her best to make up for it when he was gone at Christmas or a birthday, but it was always quite empty without him there; his easy smile and lit-up eyes. When these features showed, we knew he'd forgotten work. For the moment, anyway.

I guess it wasn't much of a surprise when my Dad got transfered. Well, it hurt like hell, knowing that I'd have to say goodbye to my best friend, but my parents were sure that I would find new friends. What 13 year old couldn't? Well that's what my Mom had said, anyway. I wasn't as childish and innocent as she might have thought though. I was turning into a young woman. Looking back at it, I think my best friend had noticed too, though I was too naive to have noticed. It would have made all the difference in the world, now that I think of it. But everything happens for a reason, right?

I'd had feelings towards him that were new, and I knew it was what the girls at school called a 'crush'. They made it sound like some massive secret, and that it was almost something to be ashamed of. You couldn't just tell the person, I learned, you had to hint. You couldn't be forward, you had to play the feminine part and wait for them to come to you. I didn't really like that idea. Women had fought for the right to vote, they had wanted equality, so why should the boys be made to pull all the courage out? It doesn't matter now, anyway. I fell into my pre-teen girl mode and did as the others, giggling behind my hand and blushing madly into a pale shade of red. I'd never told him, and as the others told me, I mustn't, not until I was asked on a date. Even then, I noticed that most of the relationships lasted only a week. I couldn't entirely see the point, but I wanted desperately to fit in. I went out with a few of them--of course my parents didn't know about it ("Not until you're 16!" My Mother had told me.)--but I didn't really like it. We were so young and still becoming the people we are going to be for the rest of their lives. I don't think I'd ever gotten over him, not even after I moved, not even when I came back.

I wanted desperately to tell him how I felt, to hold his hand and call him mine, but I'd never quite worked up the courage. I decided that I would tell him on the day that we moved, that way it would be off my chest. I guess it was sort of the coward's way out, I mean, what did I have to lose? The day came, and he seemed to small and vulnerable, and I couldn't help but notice that his eyes were red, like he'd been crying. He walked up the morning and asked if we could go sit out in the back garden and talk. I, of course, had said yes. I figured I could tell him my secret then.

He took my arm and we went out behind my house. It had a massive garden, my Mom had nothing to do all day, but tend to her garden, because the housework was done by a maid. It had a massive tree and was well sheltered with a small pond and cement bench in the centre. We had sat here often, sometimes in silence, just sitting and thinking. Not we sat in an almost awkward silence--something that we'd never experienced with each other before--and waited for the other to talk. I'm sure he was about to say something when I'd spoken up.

"I have something to tell you." I'd said in my small, thirteen-year-old voice. He'd gazed up at me, with sorrowful eyes, waiting for me to go on.

Suddenly quite nervous, I had cast my eyes to the ground, thinking of how to put my next words. My hand was picking at some flaking cement on the bench. My eyes raised slowly to his, and found him watching me steadily, his eyes calm. Finally, unable to take it, I allowed my words to be blunt.

"I have a crush on you!" I blurted, my eyes finding the ground again.

Silence from the other end. I had expected him to say something. Anything. But he just sat there. Finally, timidly, I raised my eyes again and they met an angry face.

"And you decide to tell me this the day you're leaving?" He said harshly. I'm sure I flinched at the sound of his voice.

"Well..." I barely had the time to say another word when he stood up.

"You tell me now, when we have no more time together? How could you do that?!"

I had nothing to say, I was just so shocked. I started to cry, silent tears making their way down my pale cheeks, making small dark grey splatters on the cold bench.

"I was scared..." I had murmured, watching him through my watery eyes.

"Scared! Oh is that it! Well then, I get to be all alone, and you get to go make some new friends!" His voice hit me like a tonne of bricks.

"Where does that leave me?" His eyes glared at me and I shivered standing up.

"I can call you everyday. I-" I reached a hand out to him, which he had hit away. I remember that he had turned on his heel and stomped off, leaving me, confused and crying in the garden.

I don't think I'll ever forget that day. It's haunted me for all the 5 long years that I have been in this new school. I can honestly say that there was not a day that went by when I didn't think of him. I think it was when I turned fifteen that I realized what I felt for him was not simply a childish, girly crush. It was more. It was deeper, and more real. I grieved all the time for my loss of him. I wrote to him often. He never wrote back. My poor angry, proud, beautiful Inuyasha.