before dogs had problems

Chapter 4

Looking back on it, I'm not sure why Nate and I didn't immediately starting officially dating after that night.  Maybe something in us both just knew that we were too young to embark on something that felt so natural, and perhaps we were worried that we would somehow manage to screw up our chances of a potential happily-ever-after before it even began.  For me personally, I always knew - or, at least, I thought - in the back of my mind that Nate was destined to be my soul mate, and committing to him would have terrified me to the point of ruining our relationship.

After our night on the bleachers, though, our relationship with one another was definitely changed and set into motion.  To call him my friend would have been a vast under-exaggeration; he was more to me than any words in any poem over the course of time could have described, and I truly believed that he was the first real friend I had ever had in my entire life.  Now, granted, of course I had friends, but nothing compared to what Nate and I shared; he was magnetic, and it seemed as though he was the only person in the world who was able to simultaneously understand the complexity of my mind and look beyond the chaos of my life. He was my soul mate.

However, at fourteen years old, I surely did not understand the intensity of that statement; all I knew was that I held him closer to my heart than I had ever allowed anyone else to affect me, and I put all of my trust and energy towards growing closer to him as an individual.  His friendship was the one piece of value that I treasured in my entire life.

As the years passed, and we grew older, it became all the more obvious that we couldn't ignore the fact that we both knew we were somehow destined to be with one another.  However, as I said, the idea of losing Nate through a failed romantic encounter was more terrifying than I could bare, and I subconsciously reminded myself constantly that I was perfectly content with our relationship remaining a platonic one, to the point where I convinced myself wholeheartedly that we simply were not meant to be together romantically. 

Nate, though, wanted more, even from the beginning.  He was such a straight-forward boy, always driven by what his heart felt, rather than what his rational mind demanded, and he surely couldn't see the possible negative repercussions that could occur if we did embark romantically together.  He wanted to date me, and I refused to even consider the possibility.

By the time our senior year rolled around, we had been a part of each others' lives for such a seemingly long time that we considered our lives to be permanently intertwined.  We both had progressed so far from that first day of freshman year that I'm not sure I would have recognized either one of us in comparison.  I - thankfully - had finally managed to age gracefully, my practically black hair fading out to a slightly lighter brown, and my face thinning slightly to reveal the stellar cheekbone structure of my mother's - one of the only gifts she'd ever given me.  I was still thin, but I had luckily gained some shape to my body thanks to puberty, and no longer appeared to be nothing more than a tall, pale, angst-driven rail.  I'd learned quite quickly that I was indeed 'attractive', and knew how to use it towards my advantage; most boys tend to be ever so simplistic.  So much so, that messing with them can become rather dull.

Of course, Nate was an exception to that, but I pushed that out of my mind.  I had an entire high school's worth of boys available to distract me from my desire for him, and I used my looks and my inherited ability to deceive and charm to keep my mind off of the only boy I truly cared for in my life.

However, by senior year, Nate's patience with me was running thin, and it truly came no surprise to me when he confronted me finally about pursuing our obvious attraction to one another.  We were sitting in his bedroom - his parents demanded we keep the door open at all times, as even they could not believe or understand why Nate and I were not dating - discussing some topic that I am no longer able to recall.

"Becca," Nate had said suddenly, his jawline tensing ever so slightly, and becoming immediately serious.  I blinked at him, taking in the adjustment.  Just as I had matured, so had he, and I had to physically curl my fingers into a tight fist against the floor in order to keep my mind from dwindling upon his beauty. 

He took a deep breath, but his confidence did not waver - it never seemed to.  "Be my girl."

The statement was so sudden that it felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me, and I immediately wondered if I had heard him correctly, or if I was having some unfortunate dream. I blinked slowly.  The silence that followed was painful.

Nate chuckled, slightly nervous.  "Well?  Did you hear me?"  He leaned across the carpet to me, his blue eyes searching my face for any clue into the chaos that was flashing throughout my mind.  "I want to be with you."

I felt myself losing control.  I did not like being out of control.

I shook my head.  "No."  I couldn't look at him.

"What?" Nate half-frowned, half-smirked, and I wondered how he could be such a constant enigma. 

"You heard me, Nate.  I don't want to be with you.  Drop it."  My heart was pounding so quickly that I couldn't help but wish that he'd hold me until it steadied.

"That's bullshit."  He was partially confused and partially frustrated, and I found myself growing angry at him for it.  He should have known better than to say something so ridiculous.

He should have known better than to want to be with me.

He grabbed my hand lightly, and I nearly recoiled as though he had burned me.  His silent promises of commitment and intimacy scared me to the core, and I could feel myself growing nauseous at the very idea of him growing to love me.

I needed to leave, but I realized that he was talking to me. 

"We should be together, Becca.  We practically already are.  You know I care about you, and I would hope that after all these years that you care about me, too.  I know that--"

"I have to go."  I didn't even bother to grab my jacket before I was out the door of his room.  I heard him call after me, but I couldn't dare turn around, for fear that I was either going to throw up or kiss him; I wasn't sure which possibility was worse.

I'd never been glad before in my life to be back at my own war zone of a house, but that night, I clung to my own pillow desperately for comfort, and sobbed to the walls of my bedroom out of familiarity.