The story of two secret lovers

Chapter 10

Olivia:

Wait... What? I stand frozen, rooted to the spot as my face drains of colour, staring between Ella and the figure standing at the bench. What the fuck is he doing? I clench my fists at my side, an almost automatic reaction to the adrenaline churning through my body, and try to instruct myself to breathe. Ella can deal with this; she's no baby. She can stand up for herself. Right?

Ella looks back towards me for a second, her face slightly slack and flushed with shock - or love - my thumping heart can't tell which. She finally reaches him, and we all stand here, frozen, to give them a form of distance. My entire body is filled with the dull ache that comes with the pain of this indirect rejection as I watch them, watch her figure inch closer, and watch him look towards her, his face filled with a slight blush.

"Ella... do you want to date me?" One of his hands move from his back to reach his neck absently. "I've liked you for a while and I think it would be nice if we did, you know?" He's awkward, stumbling slightly over his words as he looks at Ella, and I glance away for a moment, my cheeks heating with an uncontrollable blush. Of course he is, why wouldn't he be when it's Ella stood befire him? Who wouldn't?

If only it was me.

She pauses a moment, seemingly lost for words as she glances away for a moment, gazing towards the space next to her. She glances back up at him, and this time I can only see the back of her, can only see his happy face.
"Yes. Of course." Her voice is sure, steady, and I can hear the content smile I can't see with it. His smile widens slightly as he looks down at Ella.
"Are you sure?"
"Y-yeah, of course." Her voice stutters slightly with clear nerves and anticipation as she looks up at him with what I can only imagination as admiration and infactuation. A giddy happiness - the only thing that could explain his reaction, his smile, her footsteps that edge slowly closer. And his hand reaches for her, interlocking in a tentative yet sure gesture, and she squeezes his fingers back slightly, accepting the gesture, the affection.

And he moves closer. And it's all far too slow and fast and out of my control as his hand reaches the small of her back, pulling her closer slightly as he reaches down, reaching his face to hers, and meeting her lips. And for a moment, the world seems to still as she freezes slightly, filled with a form of shock before she seemingly melts into the gesture. His hand leaves hers and reaches the back of her neck, pushing through her hair to pull her closer to him for a few moments, and their kiss is torturous and painful yet filled with love and happiness. And I can't stand it. And he finally pulls away, beaming pointlessly, happy that she accepted him, that she likes him back, that he gets to experience this with her. And selfishlessly, stupidly, I can't. Fucking. Stand it.

I look over to Molly, filled with a form of pleasant shock, seemingly unaware of the pain spreading through me. And so is everyone else; unaffected, blissfully unaffected. I breathe in carefully, and as I exhale, I let the tears soak back into my eyes. I can't cry now. Not when she's seemingly happy. Not when she's speaking words that ring in my head incoherently in such a happy tone, and not when he's smiling like that. And he walks away, finally, with a stupid fucking smile, and she pauses a moment, stood there alone.

She turns to face us, her face filled with a pleasant sort of shock. Yet when her gaze falls on me, it feels almost... melancholy? No. I shake my head slightly to myself, averting my gaze as they glaze again with tears I can't shed, tears I won't let myself shed. And I can't meet her eyes. Can't respond to her pointless excitement, or what must be excitement, because she chose him over me or anyone else. And I can't afford the pain that comes with this delusion much longer. She's not sad or disappointed. She's happy.

And I have to accept that. And move the fuck on.