Close As Strangers

Twenty-Five.

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There was absolutely no way Wes loved me.

No matter who said it, no matter what facts they could present, I knew he didn't love me. How he really felt showed all the time. I was simply his puppet; he pulled the strings, and I followed his command.

"Alright, class. Today I want you to write an entry on what the things that you need to get out. Take this moment to get your troubles and worries off your chest." Our professor walked around the room. "Sometimes in life, we find ourselves too caught up in the moments that torment our mind that we don't take a moment to appreciate what's right in front of us. Cast your worries away through this entry. Allow yourself to be vulnerable."

Sighing, I turned my journal away from Wes, and as I glanced at him, I saw him biting his lip, deep in thought as he tapped his pencil against the paper.

I was glad I wasn't the only one having trouble opening up.

How can I come to terms with how I'm feeling? How can I stop dwelling on the things others tell me, and find the truth out for myself? Maybe a part of me is afraid to open up, to speak up for myself, because I'm scared of the reaction. Yet, this is someone I've known my whole life. Someone who has seen each and every part of me, from my best to my worst. Love has always a blurry topic for. I thought I knew what it was. I thought my parents were in love, I thought my best friend loved me in a friend way, I thought I loved both of them. But my parents grew to hate each other, and they walked away. My best friend left and took the pieces of my heart in his hand. And the boys I thought I loved... they took off their masks and showed me the real them, the ones who didn't love me the way I needed. Yet, my heart still yearns for that one desirable feeling. It still yearns for the love I have begged for. As I reflect on all the current obstacles, errors, and people in my life, I'm starting to realize that the only way I can come to terms with the way I'm feeling about life and him is to be honest with myself first.

As I looked to my side again, I noticed Wes tracing the words on his paper, deep in focus. As hard as I tried, I couldn't decipher a single sentence of what he had written, but the one word I did see stuck out like a thumb.

Molly.

What did he write about me? The curiosity was killing me, but we all knew the old saying about curiosity. And as much as I wanted to ask, I knew better not to. I didn't want to face what he could possibly say.

Once class finished, Wes and I went home. I made a pizza for us while he took Nova to Henry's, and when he returned, we sat in the living room, eating the pizza and watching a movie.

"I don't get why every romance movie has this." Wes complained, glaring at the TV screen. "There's always some kind of scene where something tragic happens and suddenly, every girl who watches it is crying over their ice cream."

I slowly set my piece of pizza down, and just as Wes looked at me, I wiped away a stray tear. He rolled his eyes. "Just as I said."

"You don't understand!" I argued as my eyes grew blurry due to the movie once again. "Those scenes prove how much they love each other. It's the climax of their relationship."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're so much dramatic."

I punched his arm, glaring. "Shut up."

"You know you love me." He smirked, pulling me against him as I rested my head on his shoulder, and I laughed, making him laugh along with me.

"Keep dreaming, pretty boy."

He softly chuckled, his arms tightening around my waist. "I always do."

That should've been my first sign.

Or really, my third sign.