Ophelia Study No. 1

Chapter Five

Had I known more about myself as a teenager, a lot of lives would've been spared. Instead, I shut myself up in my room because I wasn't good enough. And while self-discovery can be internal, most of it doesn't happen holed up in your room twelve hours a day.

One thing in particular comes to mind that would've been useful to know three years ago. That fact is that while I'm quick to fall in love, I'm also quick to fall out of it.
And my, did I fall.

We began to be together more and more, and the more I saw her, the less I wanted to. She was the type of person that was wonderful, almost other worldly in moderation, but fatal in large doses.

I overdosed on Emily Kimura.

I started to notice the tiniest things about her, and these little details would drive me crazy, and not in a good way. For instance, she would push her tongue into her bottom row of teeth when she laughed. It really annoyed me for some reason, and I almost avoided making her laugh just to prevent that from happening. That and whenever there was silence, she would hum to herself. Except you could hear it. It was always some outdated song, and I was tempted to tell her how loud and obnoxious she was being whenever she dared to hum in front of me. It was trivial, stupid, totally insignificant things that pissed me off. It shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did, but that Emily had a way of getting under your skin. She was a guerrilla terrorist in the most advanced form of combat, your head. She could get in there and, within seconds, reduce everything around her into rubble. Want to hear the best part? She'd resurface unscathed, ready to carry on her business elsewhere.

I stopped feeling sorry for her, I really did. I realized that while she had a shitty, mundane life, she did absolutely nothing about it. I'd offer to take her to a movie, she'd decline. I'd try to slip my hand up her skirt and she'd make me stop, and I gave her a cigarette and she pushed it away. Whenever things got interesting, she got scared. She was unhappy with what she was, but unwilling to make a change. It frustrated me to no end that she could sit there and complain about her problems but make no effort to resolve anything.
She didn't notice that I was growing bored of her, and quickly, too. She would talk for what seemed like forever, and sure, I would hear her, but no way would I listen. Just being around her got to be so mundane that I would find myself counting ceiling tiles or solving equations in my head just to escape her dreadful aurora.

This is also the point of the story where my vice starts to show. I knew I was getting tired of her, knew that I didn't care for her nearly as intensely as I once had. Call it a character flaw or what you will, but despite these looming facts, I proceeded to date her. Not just date her, but I mean really make this girl fall in love with me.

I remember one night in particular, the one where we had a movie marathon. It wasn't much of a marathon, though, seeing as we watched three movies and she fell asleep before midnight. It was the closest I'd gotten to her, sharing a bed. We were fully clothed; I recall her not even wanting to take her shoes off. She also wasn't a fan of touching; she rested a full foot or so in front of me, and whenever I'd rest my hand on her hip of run my fingertips along her thigh, she'd tense up and I'd give up, only for ten minutes or so. I was hardly persistent in anything I did, so it was surprising just how determined I was to touch her, and to get her to like it.

The end credits of our movie were rolling, and she had said softly, "I love you. I didn't think I would, honestly, but I really do."

Brushing off her back handed sentiment, I had remained quiet, now rubbing my hand up and down her back softly. Bracing myself for her muscles to clench, I was stunned to feel her back relaxed under my touch. I had thought that I gently bullied her into submission, but now I believe that she had genuinely trusted me. Mistakes happen I suppose.
"You love me back, right?" she had asked, craning her neck to face me.

I refused to meet her eyes, deciding it was best not to tell her the truth. She wouldn't be able to handle it, and in saying nothing, it implied a sort of mystery rather than blatant rejection. I would rather keep her guessing than have her crying.

She didn't say much for the rest of the night. She eventually fell asleep, her lashes full and heavy. I ran a hand through her hair absently, knowing for the first time that I was in deep.