The Greatest in the League

One

about you- the 1975

Noah Miller

Something is wrong with me.

Something deep within me is fucked up, and I can feel it seeping into my heart and pumping straight through my blood. Okay, that's dramatic. I'm just not turned on by anything that's happened to me right now.

I'm four shots in at some party being thrown by my classmate, Jace, and a random blonde girl is grinding against my lap on the couch. She's pressing messy kisses to my closed lips, throwing her arms around my neck and moaning against my mouth, and I feel absolutely nothing. No butterflies, no nervousness, no arousal, nothing.

It's not like I've never been pressed against a girl before, because I definitely have. But every time i've kissed a girl, it never feels right. It's never how everyone hypes it up to be. I don't feel that rush of overwhelming adrenaline, or the ache of wishing her soul could soak into mine until we become one person entirely, like how my friends describe kissing their girlfriends feel. I always feel like a plane on autopilot. I know i'm flying, but nothing is driving me.

Many girls of many personalities, many ethnicities, and throughout many different years, have pressed their lips against mine. They've admired my blonde hair, stared into my blue eyes, touched my chest, and held my strong hands. And during all of that, I felt nothing. I don't know what's wrong with me, or why I can't seem to get comfortable enough with a girl to actually feel fireworks, but I just can't.

I've never had an official girlfriend, and it drives my dad insane. A lot of things I do drive my dad insane, actually. He always says that these are my prime years, and I should enjoy them by spending that time on school, girls, and most importantly, football. I spend time on all those things, in fact I spend all my time, on all those things, except girls. I've never been able to make it past a few make out sessions, or a thoroughly planned out love confession that i'll never actually end up taking farther than a 'heat of the moment' type of thing.

I can enjoy a girl's company, but the second it turns into something physical or beyond a regular hangout, that's when they lose me.

I feel my heart thumping, but it's not because of the sandy blonde currently sitting in my lap. I know I should push her off, tell her that i'm fucked up and that it's not her, it's me. But instead, I do what I usually do. I keep eyes open the whole time, and run my hands over her breasts as if I actually care to know what she feels like moving beneath my fingers.

Before she can move her hands down to my crotch, Micheal comes in like my saving grace and is pushing the blonde off of me, and pulling me up and off the couch. He throws one of my arms around his shoulder and starts to guide me towards the glass stairs of this ridiculously nice house, (way too nice to throw a party at, in my opinion.) Micheal, the asshole, must've just got done hooking up with Jessica and finally remembered I exist.

"You've gotta stop this shit, man." I vaguely hear him say, his voice filled with something I can't pinpoint. "Mmm, doing whattt?" I grumble, almost making us both fall over as he helps me stumble down the stairs. "Kissing people you don't give two shits for, getting wasted just to feel something. You're carving out bad habits for your future, Man." He softly says as we make it down the stairs, clearly trying not to piss me off while turning to grip my shoulders with each of his hands just so I know he's serious.

But instead of taking him seriously, my vision is being blurred due to the amount of shots I had taken earlier, and his auburn hair just looks like a fire on top of his head in the flashing party lights. The idea itself makes me start to giggle, and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head and not even bothering to ask what i'm laughing at.