Love Me So I Don't Have To - COMPLETED

1.1

What's so special about me?

Trick question. Nothing.

There is nothing special about me. Some may argue, but, in reality, there is nothing. This is what she said.

"I don't know. I mean, I kinda feel like he thought of you differently."

"What? What makes you say that?"

"Well, you're not like the other girls. You're different than them. Plus, you guys were never even together and yet you had an impact on him."

I swore to myself. I swore when I came up with this half-assed (but also meaningful to me in a way) title. When I made the book cover. When I wrote the not-so-descriptive advisory for a description. When I wrote the first chapter, then when I rewrote it. I swore to myself as I began the next chapter. I swore to myself I wouldn't talk about him. I wouldn't write about him.

Yet, here I am. About to write about him.

Fuck. Technically, I have already already written about him, but let's not talk about that. Besides the point. Irrelevant.

There was a guy a while ago. I've known him for years. I wouldn't say we were ever really close until the early summer of 2015. By that time, we had known each other for three/four years.

Two years before, I had a "major crush" on him. I'll give a little insight. I was, like, twelve. He ended up finding out. He couldn't believe it. The next school year, we barely spoke a word.

That was seventh grade. That year I managed to convince myself that I had no feelings for him. I convinced myself that the crush was, well, crushed. He made it seem like he was not interested in me very much. At least, that's how I took it. I convinced myself that he was just some other kid in my graduating class whom I did not care about and would probably never speak to ever again.

Oh, how I was wrong. He got moved to my class the next year. I had basically no close friends anymore because I pushed everyone away during the pit of depression I didn't bother trying to come out of during the end of seventh grade and the summer. I was the epitome of cringe and angst. I was the angry, offensive antisocial bitch. I was teenage angst at only thirteen/fourteen.

Amazingly, he was the 'Satanic', outgoing male introvert version. Just imagine how it was to have both of them in one class. I acted like I hated him for basically the whole year. Everyone hated him in the beginning. After all, he talked shit about a dead kid. I just went with the crowd. Soon enough, everyone forgot, and he had people laughing with Jew jokes and innuendos.

I can't say we were friends, but we almost acted like it. He was one of my only friends that year. Somehow, we became actual friends one day all because I asked him what was wrong over Messenger. His friend hung herself.

That's basically where it started. He has known me for years. He knew what I was like. He knew how to screw with my head. I knew how to fight back, but I didn't. Not much.

I trusted him with many things. I only did because I knew he wouldn't judge. He told me he cared. Anyone hearing that from him would be surprised. I took slight advantage of that. I told him some things. Typically, I was vague. I wasn't too keen on telling anyone everything. He told me things sometimes. Typically, he didn't seem too vague to me.

It worried me whenever he was. If he wasn't clear or straight up, something was wrong in my mind. Neither one of us were the kind to beat around the bush. One of the worst times was when he told me he might be in love with me. He told me in Russian, but it was typed in a way to where I couldn't put it in Google Translate. I kept asking him what it meant. He said he would tell me later. Eventually, he gave in.

My heart stopped. I couldn't believe it. I didn't. I wouldn't. I told him it wasn't a good idea. He only put emphasis on the "might". This was during the beginning of my freshman year.

Feelings like that were ignored mainly afterwards. Only up until we started the rising action/climax to our story. We ended up both single. Homecoming was soon. I didn't want to go while I was in a relationship and didn't want to while out of one. I forced myself to just to do something with myself. He found out I had no date and asked me. Hoe cancelled less that 24 hours later.

The ex's found out before he cancelled and were pissed. I didn't speak to either of them. I never stopped convincing myself I gad no feelings for him. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. Who knows? Not me.

After homecoming, I got drunk. At home. By myself. I don't even remember if he and I talked that night. I do remember laying down in a spinning room, thinking about my life. I mainly thought of him, honestly. I thought about my ex who was seen crying throughout the dance. Luckily, her now boyfriend was comforting her at the time.

I think about a lot of the things we've said to each other quite often. It's all basically a code to me that I want to figure out because what else am I going to do with these memories?

Did he really mean it when he said he might be in love with me?

Did he really think I still had something for him feelings-wise?

Was he lying?

Did he really care?

Did he only start that friendship to use me?

How many girls has he done this to?

Why did he say I was a mystery to him?

Why did he tell me he couldn't figure me out like he can with others?

What was the lies to truth ratio with everything he's said to me?

Did he know that I would relentlessly hate him after he fucked me over?

Why did I have to care? Part of me wants to go back into time to see what it would be like if I never asked what was wrong. I want to know what would have happened if him being unusually quiet and spaced out didn't concern me like it did.

Well, sucks. I cared and asked for this. He saw a chance and took it. I just let him. More proof that I'm not special. I'm just like any other girl.